Sindarin Fox
by Espree
Summary: When truth is uncertain and Gondor is on the brink of destruction, threatened inside and out by one sworn to protect her and one bent on revenge, it may cost Legolas everything to save her.
1. Prologue: Target Chosen

**Author'****s Note****: Well here I am with my first story. First I'****d like to say thank you for checking out Sindarin Fox. I also have to thank Tolkien for creating these wonderful characters and Middle Earth; and God to whom I owe my passion for writing. Before I send you off to read the Prologue, I would like to say that I would greatly appreciate reviews and encourage you to send them. However, I ask that flames be kept out of them. Advice and constructive criticism are welcome though. Eventually I may start taking flames but for now- humor me. Please. Alright, enough incessant rambling. _(calls out to anonymous usher)_ _Lights!_**

_Sindarin__ Fox_

By: Espree

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Action-Adventure/Supernatural

Feedback:

Spoilers: If you havent read or finished reading Tolkiens works, this may give some things away.

Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all recognizable characters, places, events, etc. belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. I have no permission to use them and no profit has been or ever will be made from this story. This story was written for enjoyment only. All original characters, places and situations are mine and please e-mail me for permission before using them in your own fanfics if ever you desire to do so. Thank you.

Summary: Faramir is captured while fighting a group of Haradrim that have snuck into Gondor. Legolas alone of all those fighting with Faramir witnesses the kidnapping and attempts to free himC only to disappear as well. Back in Minas Tirith, Aragorn, Gimli and the hobbits begin to search for them, but are forced to stop when an unknown enemy attacks with a force far different than anyone has ever faced. Who are these strange creatures who can disguise themselves as anything, person or animal? Who is their leader, who seems to know their every move yet is nowhere to be found? And what of the ghostly grey and red fox that follows them everywhere yet can never be caught? Is he the enemy they seek, or a pawn like them? And what does Legolas and Faramir's disappearance have to do with all of this?

Additional Disclaimer: I do not claim to be an expert on Tolkiens works, though my family seems to think otherwise, so forgive any omissions or serious errors. I try to correct them before posting. I am also for convenience purposes jumping on the bandwagon in pretending that Gilrean was killed with Arathorn and that Elrond was something of an adoptive father to Aragorn and Elladan and Elrohir were something of older brothers to our beloved ranger.

**Prologue: Target Chosen**

Across the plains a cold wind blows,   
Defiant ever of winters last throes.   
A whispered word,   
A hoard of Wargs and crows.   
A hidden maze,   
Where dark magic stays.   
Evil is welcomed here,   
To fester in its treacherous ways.   
An evil man,   
A sinful plan.   
Beware to those who fight for good,   
When enemies guised roam the land,   
And Darkness Spawn have dealt the cards in hand.   
by Espree

Bright colors graced the evening sky as the sun slid ever closer to the horizon. The snow on the ground and in the trees was tainted orange where struck by the slowly fading light. March was well underway, and spring was taking over. The days were beginning to lengthen and the air while still crisp was losing its biting edge. The snow had not much longer to last before melting away forever until the winter storms came again. Birds were beginning to return from the southern climes were they dwelt during the cold months.

A lone sparrow flitted northwards. To merely glance at this bird would reveal nothing unusual. It seemed a simple sparrow. Yet this bird was so much more, as Bilbo Baggins once said of the thrush that had seen with him the Dragon Smaug's weakness.

Back and forth through the trees it darted, skillfully avoiding branch and leaf. A great roaring filled the air. Faint the sound was at first but increasing in volume as the bird flew on. Out of the trees it burst, and Rauros Falls loomed into view. Up the sparrow flew, over the North Stair and Amon Hen, and dove unhesitatingly into Parth Galen. The darkening forest was quiet, as if subdued.

Five miles the sparrow flew through the woods, not seeing another creature. Then abruptly it came upon what seemed to be a camp, if camp it could be called. Many birds there gathered, in that part of the forest, and Wargs and rats, and other creatures whose hearts had been swayed to darkness and evil. As the bird flew past them, some called out to it in either greeting or inquiry; or both. The sparrow heeded them not and instead kept on towards its goal.

In the eastern outskirts of the western side of Emyn Muil there was hidden a labyrinth of caves, well concealed and long forgotten. As the bird neared the hidden entrance, a crow called out. Inside the cave another answered, its cries becoming fainter as it retreated further within.

In a room near the center of the rock-hewn maze, a gaunt, skeletal-faced man sat at a desk, pouring over old books. The tomes were written in old runes, some so ancient that few still know how to read them. On shelves carved out of the walls stood more books, as well as jars and boxes that were filled with many things. Some contained herbs and plants, others items grimmer.

The man looked up at the crows calls. At hearing some of the cries getting closer, he leaned back against his chair expectantly, and waited.

The crow flew to the door. It was designed to look like the rest of the passage walls, and only one with sharp eyes would see it, unless they already knew it was there. With its beak the crow opened a small shutter, also camouflaged and similar to a dog door; except that it opened sideways rather than swinging like a flap. The bird entered and the shutter slid shut behind it. It landed on the desk and dipped its head in acknowledgement of its master.

"The sparrow Erd has returned," it croaked.

"Good. Now I shall learn what I need," the skeletal-faced man stood from his chair and turned to walk brusquely through the doorway and down the passage. The crow leapt from the desk and followed his master, overtaking him a moment later and flying on ahead of him to the labyrinths main entrance. The four large Wargs that guarded the entrance stood attentive and perfectly still as their lord passed by. The sparrow waited on a low branch in a tree a few meters from the cavern mouth. The skeletal-faced man stopped a few feet away from the branch and asked,

"What did you learn?"

The sparrow, one called Erd, bobbed his head as the crow had done. "The Lord Aragorn has many officials and advisors with whom he is well enough acquainted with by now. Yet none of them are a dear friend or confidant to him as you wanted to know."

He continued on with a confident air, which the skeletal-faced man took as a sign of success. "The Queen is too well guarded. It would strike Elessar too hard for us to toy with him. He will simply go into a frenzy and will come too swiftly. We will not have time to try to sway her. The members of the Fellowship would make ideal targets, though some are too far away to be worth going after. Gandalf we cannot corrupt. Aglarond we could not get into without detection and even if we did there is no getting out of there with Aragorns dwarven friend. The elf is the closest to Minas Tirith, and I believe Elessar was going to ask him for aid against the Haradrim. Yet we could not turn him against the king without using methods that might change him too drastically to escape notice."

"That is not entirely true," the skeletal-faced man interrupted. "However the elf of which you speak while close to Elessar would be of far more use as a spy or assassin. He would not be able to sway others of Gondors nobility to our cause, nor the soldiers. While enchanted by the elves some of them may be, it would seem too odd and too many would become suspicious. The same principal applies to the dwarf and the hobbits. Continue."

Erd obliged.

"The King of Rohan is close to Elessar, but obviously out of the question. The hobbits are visiting the city, but I do not think they would be any more successful than the elf. This leaves the Steward. Besides being in charge of Gondor in the absence of the king, he and Elessar are close friends, and the king trusts him undoubtedly. The army is as loyal to him as it is to the king, after fighting under his and his brothers command before the kings return; and the people love him. If we could sway him Elessar's defeat will be almost assured; for it will be easy for the Steward of Gondor to turn others to our cause, though they will know it not until it is too late."

The sparrow paused a moment and then spoke again. "The Haradrim as you said have provided us with an ideal situation to take the Steward and bring him here without much difficulty. The King has called him to Minas Tirith to plan a final assault to end the Haradrims campaign. As I said before the elf may be with him, but I am uncertain if 'tis certain. When Gondor's soldiers march out to meet the Haradrim, Faramir will lead them. I doubt the king will manage to get away from his duties to come with them, but if he does it will not be of much consequence. If we engage in the fight secretly and take out Faramir's guard while the fighting is thick it would let us take him and it will be long before any discover the truth of the matter, for they will think he is merely fighting elsewhere or has fallen.

Erdfell silent,his speech done. The skeletal-faced man narrowed his eyes and gave the small bird a hard look. "You certainly seem to have worked this whole thing out, havent you?" He said softly, with a calculating note in his voice. The sparrow, who had before puffed out with pride at his successful mission, now hunkered down in dread.

Perhaps he had said too much.

"Your usefulness keeps me from slaying you now, but do not think that I will tolerate my plans being laid out for me. Tread carefully bird, or I shall end you days of flight regardless of your uses."

Erd nodded, still cringing. The threat was vague, and one he had heard before, but he did not let that ease his fear of it. His master had learned long ago that letting a person's imagination supply the details was far worse then naming them himself; and more than once the sparrow had seen others dragged off to face the consequence of not heeding said threat. No one ever witnessed what was done to those unfortunates, yet everyone heard the screams. The four Warg guards remained attentive to their surroundings, and tried to appear as if not interested in the conversation taking place not very far from them. However they too had a haunted look in their eyes when they overheard their master's threat.

The skeletal-faced man turned away and strode forth a few paces, gazing out into the darkness that was quickly overtaking the forest.

"You are correct however." His voice drifted back to the Wargs, sparrow, and crow, the black bird having joined Erd in the tree. "Taking Faramir in the battle is an opportunity that we cannot ignore. Tomorrow morning go back to Minas Tirith, Erd. Spy on their council. I already know the Haradrim are camped outside Linhinenet. Follow them there, and learn as much as you can of where each company will be stationed, and what their plans are. I want to know as much as they. I will send others down to make sure nothing is missed. You will find me and those that I bring fifteen miles northeast. Report back five hours before they are to attack each other, all of you. Before you leave in the morning come to see me, Ill be in my study.

Erd bowed. "Yes my lord," he thenturned to leave.

"Oh, and Erd?" His master's voice stopped him from jumping off into the fast descending night. "Yes Master?" He questioned a tad fearfully.

"You talk too much for a spy. Relieve yourself of that pet habit, or you may find yourself my next test subject. I've been meaning to find a new one, and this time I need it to be alive."

"Yes my lord," the bird replied, and took off into the night.

"You may leave as well," he said to the crow. The large bird bowed, and flew back into the shadows of the cave network. The skeletal-faced man walked back towards the entrance to his home. As he stepped onto the threshold he snapped at the Warg guards.

"Get out of sight you fools. I will not have any unnecessary attention brought to this place because of your conspicuousness. You, I know, heard what I told the spy. I can apply the same to you."

The Wargs slunk off onto the trees, each going a different way; tails tucked between their legs and ears flattened in a sign of subservience. The Man turned and entered the labyrinth, a light burning in his hand at but a single-worded command that sounded like a strange dialect of the Black Speech. He returned to his study, and shut the door behind him, using the light to bring to life several candles on his desk. He then placed it in a large oil-filled basin that hung from the ceiling at a tall mans head height in the center of the room. The oil caught flame, and the rest of the room was illuminated.

He sat at his desk and picked up the book he had been reading when the crow had summoned him. He gazed at the ancient tome, flipping through the pages to the spell he had been studying and trying to learn for the past few months. It might come in handy in the near future. A malicious grin spread across his face.

"Soon, Elessar. Soon shall your kingdom and your people be mine, and then I and my followers will have a proper place to dwell and prosper, rather than hiding in some pathetic hole in the ground. Enjoy what you have while you can. It won't be yours much longer. Your friendships shall not avail you much either, for they can be taken care of. You will fall, and my time will come.

TBC

**A/N**

**Oooohhhhh**** Creepy undead-type person corrupting cute little animals, Wargs excluded from that of course. _(blanches at sight of angry Warg characters advancing towards her with bared teeth and excessive amount of slime coming from large mouths)_ Okay, okay. I take it back. _(snorts in disgust)_ Wargs. I tell ya Melkor, I****m not thrilled. _(Melkor snickers at her from Void for lack of Warg control abilities)_ Anyway, soo not good for Faramir. Or anyone else who happens to be near him in the upcoming fistfight with trespassing neighbors. An update should be coming hopefully in a week. That is, if SOME people will leave me alone so I can type. _(looks pointedly at family when she says that)_ Well, I'****m not going to keep you from reviewing. Hint. Hint. _(gives readers cute Puss in Boots patented_ _kitten eyes, while sharpening Catwoman claws for more drastic approach if necessary)_ LOL. Chill, I don'****t bite.See the shiny halo on my head?_(halo begins to tarnish)_ Oops. _(hides halo and gives embarrassed chuckle) _Just please remember to throw flames out the window, or maybe at hated distant relative, or maybe even at most hated LOTR villain (not mine please I need them. Later on I'll pass out life-sized hydrogen balloon blowup effigies of villains for you to throw flames at, then they'll REALLY blow up!), but not at me please! Thanks. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Well it's now I think 1:14 in the morning (my computer clock's kinda messed up). Gee, I didn't realize it was that late. Well, see you next post. TTFN. Ta Ta For Now. _(looks sheepish)_ Sorry I couldn't resist.**


	2. Comings, Plannings, and Leavings

**A/N**: **Thank you soo much for the wonderful reviews! I was grinning like an idiot for hours and couldn't stop myself from re-reading them over and over. I even printed them out to take with me to give me more incentive to write more. And thank God for it! It helped me to keep my sanity. So here's Chapter 1, coming to you from my computer as soon as I could get it here ( R. L. and my family kept making it difficult. VERY, VERY DIFFICULT). _Lights!_**

Note: For full disclaimers and additional associated chit-chat please see the prologue. No, I do not own Lord of the Rings!

A/A/N: Oh and btw, this story is AU. I forgot to mention that before. Don't worry though. It will still stick to Tolkien's idea of the "ultimate end of the Fellowship in Middle Earth". I just decided to make the time between ROTK and then a little bit more interesting.

Chapter 1: Comings, Plannings, and Leavings

Why am I so uptight today?   
Paranoia's all I got left   
I don't know what stressed me first   
Or how the pressure was fed   
But I know just what it feels like   
To have a voice in the back of my head   
Like a face that I hold inside   
A face that awakens every time I lie   
A face that laughs every time I fall   
(And watches everything)   
"Papercut" by Linkin Park

Three days later...

The sky was growing overcast as the group made its way towards the White City. They numbered thirty in all. All but one was human, members of the White Company; the Steward of Gondor's personal and elite guard. The odd member of the group was one of the Firstborn; an elf. Legolas Greenleaf was his name, Prince of Mirkwood, which had newly been renamed Eryn Lasgalen, and Lord of South Ithilien. Normally the elf would have traveled alone, but since his destination was the same as that of the White Company warriors, he had accepted the invitation of their captain and joined them when they had chanced to meet along the road.

They were now crossing the Pelennor Fields and would reach the Great Gates in less than a half hour. Some of the men chatted softly amongst themselves as the wide expanse of the Fields passed them by, the green and gold grasses back dropped by the purple-grey visage of the distant mountains. Others rode in silence, some only adding a bit to the conversation when they felt they had need to or were called upon to by their companions.

The elf and captain rode to the front of the group. The captain, one Beregond, son of Baranor, was mostly listening to the conversation of his men. The elf kept to himself, only speaking when addressed by another. As is the habit of many elves he rode bareback. That is, without a saddle. He also rode without bridle, hackamore, or any other head restraint on the fiery light-grey stallion that cantered beneath him. Not that he needed them, for the Firstborn have a special relationship with nature and its creatures. Therefore he was able to control his mount with just his voice and a gentle signal from his hands or legs.

Presently they came upon the Great Gates as they were called. The massive white stone walls of the outer level of the city towered above them, the famous Gates themselves an almost impenetrable arched barrier of iron and oak. On top of the battlements men garbed in the black and silver of Gondor's soldiers either walked back and forth along the wall or stood gazing out over the Pelennor from stationary posts.

As they came within sight of the tower guards trumpets rang out to signal the gatekeepers of their approach. Normally the large oaken doors would be open this time of day, but with the increased threat from the Haradrim they were now being kept closed, and people entering and leaving the city taken note of. They halted a dozen yards from the wall. A guard on top called down to them, "Who's there?"

"Tis Captain Beregond of the White Company of Ithilien, and his men," came the reply.

"And Legolas, Elven Lord of Ithilien," Legolas added.

The guard looked back behind the wall and called for the Gates to be opened. A few moments later they swung inwards with a soft groan. They were opened only long enough that the horses could be brought through. Then they were closed again and the locking mechanism put back into place. The Great Gates were the only ones so guarded. The rest they rode through without interruption as they made their way up to the sixth level of the city, where the King's Stables were. People who were out and going on about their business often stopped what they were doing to gaze at the grim-looking group that rode through their city garbed as if for war, and the fair-haired elf that rode with them. Neither the White Company nor Legolas paid them any mind.

When they reached the Stables the men stayed behind. Some would aid in caring for the horses, and others would put theirs and their comrade's gear away in the barracks where they would be staying. Grooms came and took away the horses whose masters did not stay. The boy who came to take Arod seemed unsure of how to handle the horse since he had no bridle or halter. But he need not have worried, for at but a command from his rider the horse of the Mark followed him willingly into a clean stall, and promptly settled down and began eating the hay that had been put in there. Once their horses were led off, Beregond and Legolas walked through the tunnel into the Citadel and then to the King's House, were they would meet with the king. A servant met them at the door and escorted them to a room that had been set aside for this meeting.

As they waited in silence for the king, Legolas allowed his eyes to roam around the room. Aragorn had used it for such meetings before. It wasn't elaborately decorated, and sported a semi-long table and chairs. Directly across from the door was a window about three feet tall by four feet in length. As a meeting place it served its purpose well, though the elf would have preferred something a little less closed in.

His attention was then drawn back to the door as footsteps sounded down the hall. After a few moments they came into Beregond's hearing as well. A few moments more, and the door opened, and in stepped Aragorn, King of Gondor, and Faramir, Steward of Gondor. They both looked little different since Legolas had seen them last six months ago.

Aragorn stood tall and proud in his raiment of silver and blue. His grey eyes shone with wisdom and understanding that made him look far older than he actually was, which for mortals was none too young. But he had the blood of Numenor in his veins, and thus had a far longer life-span than other men. Almost hidden in the silver orbs was an untamed fire. It was a longing for the open plains, raging rivers, and vast forests of the wilds—the place that he would always belong to no matter what his status was in the world of men. Yet his face also held joy and happiness amongst the wisdom and responsibility, and he now wore a welcoming and joyful expression at the sight of his guests.

Faramir wore a less elaborate outfit of brown and black, but the mark of nobility was still there. In his young countenance was a graveness that can only come of seeing much hardship and turmoil; and continuing on though others were not so fortunate. His blue eyes had seen much. That one could tell by looking into them, for the memory remained there. Yet he also had an aura of joy and contentment in life, and his placement in it, though to all others he seemed reserved and at times distant.

Beregond immediately bowed as his lieges entered the room. Legolas smiled and was about to follow suit when Aragorn held up his hand and shook his head. "No formalities, my friend. I am subjected to them more than enough as it is."

Legolas laughed and stepped forward to clasp the former ranger's arm in greeting. "_Mae govannen_, Aragorn. Well met."

Aragorn smiled and returned the gesture. "It is good to see you again, Legolas." He then turned to where Beregond and Faramir were conversing about the White Company's journey from North Ithilien a few feet away. The two halted their conversation when they realized his attention was on them. "Your Majesty." Beregond dipped his head.

"Please Beregond." The king shook his head. "As I said to Legolas, no formalities. Come, all of you, and sit."

At Aragorn's gesture they all took seats: Aragorn at the head of the table, Legolas and Faramir to either side of him, and Beregond on Faramir's other side. Aragorn spoke, coming straight to the purpose of this council, for they had neither need nor enough time to dance around it.

"You all know that the Haradrim have been harassing us at our southern borders. We have thus far repelled them, but now they seek to bring this to the next level. They have managed to sneak past our lines and amass a considerable force outside Linhinenet, a small farming community along the River Erui," he began.

"Wait a moment, my lord, and please forgive my interruption," Beregond said, hoping he did not sound impudent. Confusion had come to his face upon hearing that Gondor's remaining enemies could accomplish such a feat after the heavy losses they suffered in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. "How is it that they have enough men to wage war with us? Border skirmishes I can understand, but I thought the Haradrim armies were decimated in the War of the Ring. How is it that they still have the strength to challenge us?"

"They do not seek open war," Aragorn answered, "only to wear us down little by little, until we fold and give them what they want to make them stop. Not all of their fighting forces were sent to aid Mordor, so they still have enough left to achieve this."

"You must also remember that Gondor is still regaining her own strength. Our own fighting force is still not as large as it was before the Ring War," Faramir added.

"Yet we are still stronger than they, and because this is our territory we can send aid to our soldiers and reinforcements faster than they can," Aragorn defended, refusing to be fazed by the desert invaders. "If we eliminate the force that camps outside Linhinenet they will be forced to back off, and we will be back to mere border skirmishes. If we eliminate this force they will not have the strength to try something like this again. Not any time soon anyway."

He looked around at the others, gauging their responses. Each seemed understanding and calm about the whole predicament, for easily could it be remedied– if they chose to remedy it. "They are camped a half mile south of the river. Gondor's troops are camped to the east of Linhinenet, north of the river. They were on their way to aid the men on the border, they do not have the numbers to take on the Haradrim as they are now."

"You want us to take a company to aid them and eliminate the Haradrim," Legolas said, breaking the silence he had held since the meeting's beginning.

Aragorn looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "And what makes you think that I'm asking you to go?" he said, with a mysterious glint in his eyes. Over the many years of their friendship the two had taken to trying to out psych one another, with cryptic comments and questions designed to make a person doubt themself. In an attempt to lighten the mood he subconsciously employed the use of this decades old game, knowing the elven prince would recognize it immediately. Hopefully it would make the mood a bit less dire, and put them a bit more at ease, for this was not nearly as bad a situation as Gondor had been in before the One Ring's destruction. It merely needed to be stopped when it could be stopped most easily– at its beginnings.

Legolas was undaunted by his friend's look, and was more than willing to rise to his lighthearted challenge, recognizing Aragorn's reason for employing it, as Aragorn knew he would. Normally he would reply with a statement or question just as cryptic as Aragorn's. This time, however, he decided to take his old friend by surprise and employ a new tactic: bluntness.

"You asked me to this meeting, for one," he shrugged, keeping his body totally relaxed and looking for all the world as if he were bored by such a question, his facial expression indifferent and his tone logical and matter-of -fact. "I do not think you would call me here specifically for this if I was not to have a part in it, since it does not involve my colony. In addition to that you asked me to make haste in coming here. If Faramir summoned the White Company at the same time they would arrive first since they are closer to the city, and it seems you wanted all of us to arrive more or less together so this meeting wouldn't be long delayed. I'm assuming also, since actions are being taken with such haste, that we are to depart fairly soon."

The three men sat staring at him with shocked expressions at his response. Then Aragorn smiled and shook his head in amazement. "There is no fooling you my friend," he grinned. Trust Legolas to throw a new twist into the game. He put it into the back of his mind to even the score again at a time when it would be more appropriate, such as after the Haradrim were evicted and he had had enough time to come up with a new and unexpected response of his own. For now though, responsibility demanded they drop the game and let the elf stand as the current winner. So almost reluctantly he gave the fair being a plain answer.

"Indeed such a company will be departing on the morrow, for I dare not delay longer than that. We are not entirely sure the Haradrim will seek to attack, but I do not want to take chances on an uncertainty. If they are going to attack they won't wait for long, especially since they will probably have figured out that reinforcements have been sent for. They know the soldiers already there will not attack them on their own. And indeed I was going to ask if you would possibly accompany them. Your elven senses would be a valuable asset. Before Faramir can decide on what we shall have to do to remove them he will need to have some idea of their intent."

Legolas gave Aragorn a wry smile and a knowing look. "You wish me to infiltrate their camp and find out what their intent is."

"You are the only one who can get in and out with a realistic hope of not being detected, darkness and all but the most severe elements are not hindrance to you as they would be to a human." Aragorn spoke with calm and well thought-out logic, yet the option for the woodland being to refuse was still there.

Legolas nodded. "If it will help then yes, I will go." He had already heard reports of the havoc being wrought on the borders. The thought that the Southmen might come north and threaten his own people in Ithilien was alone enough to raise his ire, and his ability to sense danger from afar might allow Gondor to get out of this encounter with fewer casualties. These lands had seen far too much war in recent years for him to even think of refusing his friend's request. If Aragorn wanted his aid, he would give it.

Even if it meant spying in enemy camps and possibly going to battle, short though the whole thing should be.

"I thank you my friend, though I loath having to watch you ride out into danger, especially when I am unable to accompany you and the cause is not your own." Aragorn's look was apologetic, but the elf waved it off dismissively.

"It is my concern if they come anywhere near Ithilien, Aragorn." His gaze was venomous at the thought of the southern invaders entering his realm and threatening his people, which they seemed to be capable of considering they made it all the way to the Erui River. "I will go for no other reasons than that you are my friend and would do the same for me, and that I have a duty to protect my people."

To that Aragorn nodded in understanding, for he knew his friend's words to be true, but he still couldn't help but feel guilty in asking the elf to put himself in harms way. "I guess I'll have to accept that then, for by the look in your eyes you do not seem likely to be persuaded otherwise."

"You would ask me for help, only to then try and talk me out of it mere moments later when my well-being hasn't even been threatened yet?"

"Your well-being became threatened the moment you decided to come with us and infiltrate an enemy camp, Legolas. Now can we please move on?" Faramir understood both sides of the argument, but they had things to accomplish here ere they could finish and he could go make the last preparations for them to ride out in the morning. The sooner they finished here the sooner he could go complete them. He wanted them done soon so that he could rest properly before being called on to rise early as he had planned.

His day had been stressful thus far and would only become more so as it wore on. This meeting was only one of several he had to attend as he prepared the company that would ride out and recruited others to take up his duties here while he was gone, and then spread the word of who the councilmen were to go to in his place. He had not the time to spend playing mind games with old friends, no matter how much he may have wanted to.

"Yes Faramir, forgive us." Aragorn apologized, realizing that he could tarry not in getting this meeting over with, and launched back into the narrative he had left off before. "If they attack, the Haradrim will likely do one of two things. Either they will go directly north to Linhinenet and then attack us from the west, or they will come northeast and attack us directly."

"What about dividing and attacking from both fronts?" Legolas asked.

The king shook his head. "Unless they have increased their numbers in the last few days, which I do not think likely as we have had no word from our own men, they will not have enough fighters to do this. Especially once our force there has increased in size. Tomorrow your force rides out to meet with those already in Linhinenet, and from what reports we have heard so far they will most likely attack tomorrow night. They seem to have figured out that reinforcements were being sent for. Likely they will simply choose to wait and get rid of the whole force at once than fight multiple times if they can help it. If you must engage them don't massacre them, but get the message clear across. They are not welcome to freely roam our lands, and we will not stand for them doing so."

Aragorn felt fairly confident that everything had been properly addressed regarding the Men of the South that could be addressed here. Everything else would have to be planned and set up by Faramir, Legolas, and the soldiers once they reached Linhinenet. Yet a shadow of unease that had nothing to do with the threat to Linhinenet had blossomed in the back of his mind earlier, and refused to be quieted. He hoped fervently that they had not overlooked anything.

That there was nothing more to this than there seemed to be.

Aragorn gave his head a mental shake. Later he would ask Legolas if he had sensed anything. It was pointless to drag this council out longer because he was uneasy for some unnamed reason. "I think that about covers all that can be discussed here. What say you Faramir?"

"I agree my lord," the Steward answered. He was briefly relieved the council had not lasted very long, but that was soon replaced by the resigned feeling of knowing the chores on his roster were far from completed. He turned to address Legolas. "We leave at first light tomorrow, so meet us at the stable before then."

The elf nodded in agreement, promising silently to be there.

"Good. Then I think we should all go prepare for tomorrow morning." Aragorn said as he stood up from his chair, the others rising with him.

Noticed by none of them, a sparrow jumped off of the edge of the windowsill, and flew around to the window high on the wall of the corridor outside. At a flick of his wing two grey and white pigeons joined him.

They exited the room, Beregond going back towards the stables and barracks to get the men ready. Faramir gave some soft spoken instructions to the man, and then went the other way to his next destination, finding someone to take over for him while he was dealing with the southmen. Aragorn turned to Legolas. "The hobbits are here," he said.

"All four of them?" the elf asked.

"Yes. I believe they left a few hours ago with Arwen to explore the city a bit."

Legolas couldn't help but smile at the thought of the merry, brave-hearted Shirefolk. It was amazing what those small beings could accomplish, considering that most of them never traveled outside the Shire, where they had dwelled for centuries. Indeed many east of the Misty Mountains had never heard of hobbits save in passing legend before the War of the Ring. Even now many still knew no more than that they existed. Yet still for all their small size and obsession with food and parties one should never underestimate them, for they truly were among the most steadfast and stouthearted of peoples when the need arose. Legolas looked forward to being in their company again.

"Am I to assume that Gimli will be visiting as well?" Legolas asked hopefully. It had been months since he had last seen the dwarf and he was beginning to miss him.

"He should be arriving in approximately three days, unless he is delayed." Aragorn stifled a chuckle at the thought of how the reunion between the two might turn out. Elves and dwarves had been at the very least bitter rivals for millennia. Gimli and Legolas had been no exception. From the start of the Fellowship's journey they had been downright hostile to one another, and more than once either Aragorn or Gandalf had been forced to step between the two lest they kill each other or gave away the Fellowship to their enemies. Even now he wasn't entirely sure what had caused the two to put aside their animosity and actually try to be friends. He wasn't even sure if they knew.

He inwardly shook his head again. Whatever had happened, the two were nearly inseparable now. Indeed, it had been their letting go of the old rivalry between their peoples that had allowed the Three Hunters, as they had become known as, to form the incredibly strong bond they shared as a trio. Yet this bond certainly didn't prevent the two from playing all manner of insidious yet ultimately harmless little pranks on one another.

A guard passing by them dressed in armor suddenly jolted the former ranger's memory, bringing back to the front of his mind something he had determined to speak with the elf about earlier. More than one thing, actually.

"We should head for the armory." his voice was casual, his remark intentionally unexpected.

Immediately the elf's gaze fell on him, his fair head tilted questioningly.

Aragorn simply returned the gaze, as if the answer were obvious.

"You cannot ride out towhat could become a battle without some sort of protection, my friend. I know you got along fine without it at the Pellenor fields, but that time there was no chance to prepare beforehand. This time there is and I think it would be wise of you to take advantage of that."

The elf mentally sighed and grumbled in annoyance that his friend would take note of that little detail. That friend was right, but still he disliked wearing anything that would limit his ability to move. One look at the human walking next to him, however, told him that Aragorn wouldn't let the matter go, and would continue to press him until he gave in.

"So long as it doesn't impede my style of fighting then very well," he acquiesced with a resigned and somewhat reluctant tone. There was a very good chance there would be not battle, and then he would not have to wear the unwelcome garments anyway.

"Good," Aragorn nodded his head. A mischievous grin was spreading across his face, which he was unsuccessfully trying to keep impassive. "I'd hate to hear about how Faramir had to drag you off the battlefield because you were too slow to avoid one of the southmens' spears and had nothing to protect you."

Legolas' glare was indignant. "Oh, really? Well in that case I'd love to hear your explanation of why it is that you almost always emerge from battle covered in as much of your own blood as that of others while I, wearing less armor than you, only ever leave the battlefield with the blood of my enemies upon me?"

"Only ever?" Aragorn's eyes were wide, his gaze incredulous. "I've lost track of how many times I've had to sew up a cut or "scratch", as you like to call them, which you received from an enemy blade."

"But it's never been more than superficial and you only sewed it so it would close faster," Legolas said pointedly.

Aragorn sighed. "You are definitely wearing at least **_some_** type of armor, Elf. With an attitude like that the day is going to come, more likely sooner than later, when you will come away from a fight with something far more serious than a "scratch", and I would try to prevent it if I could."

"I said I would wear it, Estel. Or has the foreboding you feel distracted you so that you forget things easily?"

Aragorn froze. Legolas halted but a pace away, waiting for his friend to do something. Aragorn's surprised gaze locked onto the dark grey-blue eyes that stared back at him impassively. His voice was a whisper. "You have felt it to?"

Legolas heard him easily. "Apparently not as strongly as you have, but yes, I have. A shadow of unease in the back of the mind. Subtle, yet noticeable."

"What do you think it is?" Aragorn asked. The two resumed walking. Legolas didn't answer him right away, so Aragorn patiently waited him out. After a few minutes the elf spoke.

"I don't know what it is. Only that my unease grows if I turn my attention to the south but nothing more."

"That makes two of us." Aragorn sighed in frustration. At that point the conversation faded, and each was lost to his own thoughts as they made their way to the sixth level of the city, where was located one of six armories; one located on each of the levels of the city. The exception was the seventh level, where the King's House was located. The seventh level was the smallest, and as the armory of the sixth level was so close at hand it had been thought by the city's builders that a seventh armory wasn't needed.

Neither noticed the small bird that tailed them, and at their arrival to the armory winged his way over to a large window set high, near the ceiling. He had a feeling they would be talking to the weaponsmaster, and picked a spot near where he knew the man's workstation was, having tailed Faramir here several times when the Steward had come to see him. Even with the added noise of more people than the last time, Erd still found he could here any conversation very well, and wouldn't have to move if they stayed on this side of the armory, something he didn't mind in the least.

When the two friends walked through the door they found the place humming with activity. Men both of the White Company and of Gondor's cavalry ran back and forth on one errand or another. Some sat crafting arrows, or re-stitching leather. Others selected weapons or armor they would have need of but did not have already. Still other sharpened blades and arrow heads. If Faramir's company and the company in Linhinenet fought the Haradrim, they would do so prepared and with adequate supplies.

The craftsmen in charge of making and up keeping the weapons and armor scurried around, making last minute adjustments and repairs or helping people to find things. Men nodded their heads respectfully at the king and elven lord as they passed by them, but did not stop as they went about their business. The two returned the gesture, and kept on towards their goal as well.

Near the back of the room, a tall, grizzled man who appeared to be in his early forties worked to repair the torn flap of a well-used, yet well cared for saddle. He was dressed in a plain brown work tunic, breeches, and boots, with a leather apron over all. He looked up suddenly when Aragorn approached him, and putting aside his work, stood and nodded his head respectfully before striding forwards to greet the ex-ranger as if he were an old comrade, a bright look in his hazel eyes and an inquiring smile on his face. Aragorn greeted him alike while Legolas kept back a few paces and waited to be introduced to the man. After a few minutes the two men walked over to him.

"Legolas, this is Almeran, the weaponsmaster of the city's armories. Almeran, I'd like to introduce you to Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood Forest. " Aragorn stepped back slightly to let the two greet one another.

"Tis a pleasure to meet you, Son of Thranduil," Almeran greeted the elf warmly, offering the fair being his hand.

Legolas accepted the proffered handshake, extending his own friendly greeting. "It is likewise a pleasure to meet you, Almeran." The man had the well built muscles and scars of one who has spent much time training and working with weapons. His hands were also rough, and stained with soot, telling of years of smithing and metalwork.

Almeran likewise took note of the lithe creature that had come into what many had come to term 'his domain'. He had a youthful look, as if he were no older than twenty-three. Yet his eyes belied that assumption. His eyes were old. Old as only time can make them, yet young. Wise and well learned yet energetic and vibrant. Agelessness it was, the trademark of the eldar.

Aragorn decided then to get down to business as it seemed the weaponsmaster and his assistants were busy and needed to get on with their work.

"Almeran," he said stepping forward, "Legolas is one of the company that's riding out tomorrow for Linhinenet. Think you can find some armor for him, or are you too busy? We can come back later."

"Nah, I'm not that busy. Better we get this done now so your friend here can rest up. I hear Faramir wants to be out early and stop as few times for rest as he can without exhausting everyone."

Legolas did not bother telling the man that elves needed far less sleep than men and could rest in their own fashion while on the move, for Almeran was already walking amongst the weapon racks towards where the armor was kept on rows of shelves. Legolas and Aragorn followed him. The weaponsmaster glanced over his shoulder at the elf. "What kind of armor d'you usually wear, Legolas?" he called over the noise of the other soldiers running around.

"I don't usually wear armor. It's impractical where I come from," Legolas replied.

"You're tellin' me that your people _never_ wear armor?" Almeran arched an eyebrow at this.

"Not very often."

"And why is that?"

"Mostly we end up fighting spiders which like to attack us either from or in the trees, so we need maximum amount of maneuverability. Wargs and orcs we attack from the trees as well as from the ground, and often jump back and forth to confuse them. Our fighting style is based more on the idea of out maneuvering an opponent, not going head-to-head." Legolas spoke as if this was obvious, and to him it was. But Almeran had never traveled to the great forest before and Legolas was in fact the first of its people that he had ever met. Before, he had known of the Woodland elves only in legend and stories.

Almeran listened to the elf as he looked through the pieces of armor._ So what this guy'll want is something light and non-restricting. No bulkiness either. Hmm, _he thought, _I wonder...._ His smile broadened as an idea came to mind.

"Have you ever worn any type of armor other than vambraces?" he asked absentmindedly.

"At Helm's Deep I wore eight-lamed pauldrons. That's it."

Almeran looked the Elf up and down, sizing him up. "Well, we can get you another set 'o those that's for sure. But I think I can add something to it. Follow me."

He walked over to a shelf a few rows away where was kept chain mail. Looking through the different coats he would pick one up and then put it back, mumbling to himself the entire time, though Legolas could hear him.

"Nope, too long... Wrong size... Too heavy... Too thick... I thought I told Carlan to repair that one... shouldn't even be on these shelves... that boy's gonna be in trouble when thing's calm down in here... Too big... Too small...Wrong style... Ah, here it is."

He turned around and tossed an armored coat at the elf. "Here. Go in the back and try this on."

Legolas caught the coat and was surprised at how light it was. At Almeran's direction he shed the suede jerkin he wore over his tunic and put it on.

The coat he wore was no longer than his own green and brown jerkin. Sleeveless, it fit snugly, yet comfortably around its wearer's torso, rib cage, back, stomach, and shoulder blades. Instead of fastening over the shoulders, the mail angled up over spine and collarbone to complete itself in a form-fitting collar about two inches tall, lined by soft, dark leather to make it more comfortable.

At the waist the coat had no metal, only a two inch wide band of leather where a warrior would wear his belt. The skirt, which consisted of four pieces to allow minimum restriction, was attached to the bottom edge of the leather. What was most interesting was the fact that instead of chain-links it consisted of thousands of small fish scale-shaped pieces.

Almeran tossed to Legolas the black leather pauldrons that had been specially made to go with the scale-coat. When these were fixed into place the weaponsmaster gave them a thorough inspection to make sure they fit properly, and then turned to the king to ask his opinion.

Aragorn had seen the men of Rohan wear similarly scaled coats, though theirs were full length and the scales were slightly longer, narrower, and more pointed. Not very unlike dragon or snake scales. But he had never seen a scale coat of this particular design before. He couldn't help but admit that he was impressed by the cunning make of it, though he didn't say it out loud.

"Did you make this," he asked instead, "or did someone give it to you?"

"I made it. It's my own design." Almeran's voice remained casual, yet his already ramrod-straight posture seemed to draw itself up a bit more as he talked about his creation.

"The steel I used is folded rather than melted down and poured into a mold, so it's a hundred times stronger. I also treated it with a special mixture while purifying it–- I purify my own iron ore y'know. The mixture makes it extremely light. After truesilver it's the strongest metal in the world, and the lightest, or so it's proved to be so far. The design is basically to allow greatest protection and motion range with minimal bulk. The scales are more flexible than chain or plate, and by reducing the layers the fighter wears, by having no metal underneath the person's weaponbelt or pauldrons, there's less restriction and stiffness.

Elf and king listened to the man with interest. What he said was true. There was no doubt that he knew what he was talking about. Each individually came to the conclusion in their mind that they would have to bring Gimli here when the dwarf reached Minas Tirith to meet Almeran. He would have a field day talking to this man.

"It's perfect," Aragorn said. He turned to Legolas. "What do you think?"

Legolas didn't answer right away. Instead he turned to Almeran, who had seated himself on a bench and was watching the elf for his response just as Aragorn was. "Do you have any mirrors in here?" Almeran pointed to a nearby wall, were was mounted a six-foot tall mirror between two sets of shelves. He walked over to it, wanting to see what he looked like in armor. The elven prince wasn't vain by nature, but wearing such protective gear was new to him and it was out of sheer curiosity that he wanted to see his reflection.

Stepping up to the looking-glass he was satisfied that what he did see not displeasing. The scale armor did fit well, and while he was unaccustomed to it, it wasn't uncomfortable. It didn't even look out of place on him. Rather it actually looked more like it was made for him. Still, appearances meant nothing if he was unable to fight in it. That was a test he would have to put it through before he gave his final verdict.

Crossing over to the center of the small empty area they were in, he stopped to retrieve his white knives from their place strapped to his quiver; which he had left on a bench. As the two men looked on he began one of the knife forms he had learned long ago when he was first taught to wield a blade. He made sure the training routine he chose was one that required a lot of exaggerated and intricate movements.

As he ducked, dodged, parried, and attacked, the other people in the armory one by one stopped what they were doing to watch the elf's impressive and complex fight against multiple nonexistent foes. When he finished many of them clapped or called out in admiration for the impromptu show, then went back to their original activities. Almeran and Aragorn continued to wait patiently for the fair being's decision concerning whether he would wear that particular armored coat, or if they would need to keep searching for one that he would.

Personally Aragorn thought the elf would never find anything in the White City that would suit him better, but that was his opinion, and Legolas' could very well be the exact opposite. And since it was the elf who would have to wear it, it would be he who had the final say.

Finally Legolas turned to back to the two, but instead of answering Aragorn's question, he looked at Almeran and asked a question of his own.

"I never expected to find something like this here. Is this the only one you have or are there more?"

"You're wearin' the only one. It's my prototype. It's also never seen battle. I've been waitin' for someone to take it out and put it through its paces, that way I'd know if it was worth making more of them, or if it needed more work." Almeran wondered if all elves took so long to answer a simple question or if this one was just unique. He also wondered what interest the fair haired being would have in the number of fish-scale coats, as he liked to call them, he had. _Does such a question mean that he'll take the coat with him? Or does it mean he's interested in it but he doesn't like how it fits him._ He couldn't tell.

When Legolas simply nodded, Aragorn decided enough was enough. They couldn't play this game all day and night. "Legolas. Is that coat what you're looking for, or do we need to keep looking?" He gave the elf a stern look to let him know he expected an answer. He could force the woodland being to take it with him by pulling rank on him, he was King after all. But such was their friendship that he would not resort to such a measure unless he had to.

Legolas seemed unperturbed by his friend's gaze, but even if he was it didn't matter, for he had made his decision. He turned back to Almeran. "If you would permit me, Weaponmaster, I would be the one to test your prototype in combat. Valar willing, I will return to tell you that the entire Gondorian army should be outfitted as such."

"In that case I shall prepare more iron ore in the event that you bring me back such a message. And Valar forbid your message comes back the contrary, I shall use it to make the improved version of the coat." Almeran couldn't help but grin. Thus far he had tried and failed several times to find someone to field-test his prototype, but none would. Either they were untrusting of an untried type of armor, or the coat didn't fit them properly, or they were simply set in what type of armor they'd wear.

The elf, he had to admit, fit into the coat better than anyone else that had tried it on so far. Making the weaponsmaster even happier was the elf's fighting abilities. After only watching Legolas do a knife form, he could tell that he was the best person he could have ever hoped for to test his new design. His fighting style, the fact that he could fight most likely from both ground and horseback, and the fact that he used both distance and close combat weapons meant that his armor would get put through almost everything he could ask it to be put through in a single skirmish.

Aragorn was pleased as well. Having Legolas wear something that at least would foil an enemy blade did much to ease his mind, though the unidentified dread that took up an almost constant perch in his head refused to dissipate. Still, it was one less thing for him to worry about.

As Legolas moved off to get out of the scale coat and back into his jerkin and quiver, Aragorn walked over to Almeran. Stepping in front of him he held out his hand. Almeran took it and the two shook. "Thank you, Almeran. I can not tell you how much of a comfort it is to know that he will at least be less vulnerable if the Haradrim attack."

_When the Haradrim attack_, he corrected himself, apprehensive again despite his grateful tone and appeased manner. The southmen weren't fools, nor were they stupid. If attack was their intent they would not hesitate to attack once they saw that help had arrived for the Gondorian soldiers that were already there. And if they didn't then it was up to Legolas to find out what their true intent was.

Almeran shook his head. "Your majesty it is I who will be thanking you for bringing him here. He's just what I was looking for to take that coat out and field test it."

Legolas rejoined them then. "Thank you Weaponmaster. I will come to see you and tell you about your armor's trustworthiness when I come back." The elf shook the man's hand. Almeran again shook his head. "You do me just as good a favor, my lord. It both flatters and thrills me that you will wear it." Legolas simply nodded at this.

"I think we should return to the palace my friend." Aragorn said. "Good day Almeran." He turned and began to walk towards the exit.

"Good day Your Majesty." Almeran called back. Legolas walked up and nodded at him. "GoodbyeAlmeran. I've a feeling we'll be seeing each other again soon. A friend of mine who is coming here will most likely want to meet you after he gets a look at your craftsmanship, and I'm sure he'll get me to come along to introduce the two of you."

Almeran grinned. "Bring him over. Anyone with an eye for smithing and weapons is welcome. I look forward to meeting him, and you will have to come back anyway to tell me how that scale coat worked for you."

Legolas smiled back and turned to walk out of the armory after his friend. Almeran started to walk back to the saddle he had been repairing. As he passed by the shelf where he had kept the scale coat, he gasped as memory sent a jolt through him. Grabbing the object that had caught his attention, he ran after the elf, catching him just as he reached the door.

Legolas heard the footsteps behind him and turned to step aside and let the person past. Whoever it was they were in a hurry. He cocked his head to the side questioningly when he saw that it was Almeran. "What is it?"

Almeran stopped and held out towards him a helmet. The elf took it. It was made to cover a person's head, but not interfere with the movement of their neck. The front came down over its wearer's cheekbones and curved up to connect with the piece that covered the bridge of the nose. Two large and slightly slanted almond-shaped holes were cut out to allow the wearer to see. A pair of triangular pieces of metal, reminiscent of fox ears, and sharpened so they could be used to cause damage in their own right were riveted to the skull. The whole effect was a vulpine-like visage. A leather strap fastened underneath the chin would hold it in place.

Legolas looked up at the man standing in front of him. "Why are you giving me this?"

Almeran shrugged. "I made it to go with that scale coat. Bit unorthodox, but it'll do its job." He began to walk back towards his work area. Turning slightly as he went he waved the elf off. "Try it," he called back. "It should fit. If is doesn't work for ye though just forget about wearin' it and bring it back with ye." With that he went back to repairing the saddle, leaving Legolas stading in the doorway, a bewildered expression on his face. Shaking his head, the fair being walked out into the cool, moisture laden afternoon air. The sky was beginning to darken into evening. The clouds had obscured the sun's position in the sky, and it was later then the two friends had originally thought.

Aragorn had noticed the elf wasn't behind him and had stopped to wait for him. He had been about to go back in and see what was keeping his friend, when Legolas walked out of the armory and joined him.

"What kept you?" Aragorn asked. In response Legolas showed him the fox-head helmet. The former ranger's expression was incredulous as he examined it. It was without a doubt the most unusual piece of head-gear he had ever laid eyes on. He looked at the elven prince questioningly. Legolas shook his head. "Almeran said he made it to go with the scale coat and that I should try it out." In truth the elf had no better explanation than that. "How did you meet him?" he asked, as Aragorn handed the helmet back to him. "You seemed to know one another."

Aragorn smiled as they began to walk back to the palace. His eyes looked somewhat far away as he spoke. "In truth Legolas I did not meet him until after Arwen and I were married. He was an apprentice blacksmith here when Faramir was first sent off to ride with the Rangers of Ithilien. He's I believe about eleven or twelve years older than Faramir is, ten at the least. The two, despite their age difference, became friends, and have maintained that friendship throughout the years. It was Faramir who introduced me to Almeran."

Aragorn shook his head at the memory. "Almeran had heard tales of my time in Ecthelion's service as Thorongil and was very interested in meeting me not because I was his king, but because of the amazing life I had led. A life I wish in some ways that I was still leading now. He's treated me as a friend ever since, and I've treated him the same. He's a good man, and a good person to be friends with. Any time you need anything he's got your back."

Aragorn sighed. Thinking about his days as a ranger always brought out that melancholic look in his eyes. Part of him would always be that ranger and nothing could change that. Neither could anything take away that melancholy except to let the ranger back into the wilds he yearned for. Legolas could see this was what occupied the man's thoughts, and he sympathized with him.

He had never liked being cooped up in his father's courts either. He also knew what it meant to give up something for someone else. The sea-longing bid him to come away to Valinor with his people, just as the wilds bid Aragorn to give up being royalty.

But as Aragorn stayed for the people who needed him and who he owed his loyalty to, Legolas stayed for his friends, though doing so would always cause some pain for him. To him it was worth it, as being King was to Aragorn. "I wouldn't change anything if I could go back. I just wish that saving Middle Earth didn't require me to give up being a ranger. No matter what that will always be a preferred lifestyle for me."

Legolas just nodded in understanding. There was nothing for him to say, and he wouldn't waste his time with empty remarks. Aragorn knew he understood. Right now he just being there and listening was enough.

They continued on in silence, each wrapped up in his own thoughts. Above them Erd flew, both listening to the two and looking for someplace to perch that he would still be able to at least hear them when they went inside. He decided on a tall window near the door, and swooped up to perch on the windowsill. They came into the front entrance of the King's House only to be greeted by two familiar faces. "Legolas! Good to see you again. It's been far too long."

"You as well Samwise. How is Rosie?"

"She's fine. Would have brought her with me except her father hasn't been doing too well lately. She wanted to stay in Hobbiton and take care of him." Sam's smile held its place as he came up to embrace the elf, yet his brown eyes were sorrowful as he thought of his kind father-in-law's failing health. He had considered staying behind with his wife, but she would have none of it, and in the end had all but pushed him out the door and shut it in his face to see that he would go and visit his friends in the east with Frodo, Merry, and Pippin.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Legolas' sorrow was genuine. His prolonged contact with the mortal races had given him a basic understanding of the concept of old age. Enough to know what the term "failing health" often meant for a mortal of advanced years, though he hadn't thought Sam's father-in-law was that aged.

"We all are, but we agreed that we wouldn't let it dampen the mood. We came here to enjoy seeing old friends, not agonize over something we can do nothing about." Frodo gave his best friend a pointed look. Sam nodded and allowed the joyfulness to return to his eyes. Frodo turned back to the elven prince and embraced him as well. "It is good to return here and visit. Since the war I have found the Shire a bit confining at times, like Bilbo did. I'm glad to be back. And it is good to see you again. Now all we need here is Gimli and Gandalf and the Fellowship will be reunited again."

"I share the sentiment Master Hobbit. It is one of the reasons I am not often found in Mirkwood these days. Restoring Ithilien is the other reason. And Gimli should be here in a few days. Perhaps Gandalf will show up as well."

"I tried to send an invitation to him but no one knows where he is, so I sent several to people in different places. He should get one eventually," Aragorn interrupted. Legolas and Frodo both nodded, then went back to their conversation.

Frodo smiled. "I would like to hear of your new home, and how it fairs. I only traveled through North Ithilien, but I remember how beautiful it was, considering it was so close the Ephel Duath. I imagine South Ithilien was a bit worse off."

"It was," Legolas nodded, "but now the shadows are receding. It looks to be a beautiful spring this year. I'll tell you more about it tonight. I imagine Estel has some sort of dinner being prepared for us all."

"That he does." Aragorn chuckled. "Though I'm surprised Merry and Pippin didn't answer that question for you."

"Well, Pip, I suppose we shouldn't be rude and should greet our friends," a voice said nearby. They all turned to see two hobbits standing a short ways away, casually leaning against the white stone wall and smoking their pipes as if they had no intention of moving or addressing their comrades.

"Yes Merry I suppose we should, we are in the presence of royalty you know," Pippin replied.

"Indeed," Merry returned.

"Oh, you two. Enough already, go say hello, you're being rude as it is," Arwen admonished as she stepped out of the dining hall and walked over to the group. "Hello Legolas, I'm glad you could come," the Queen of Gondor smiled as she joined them, her eyes shining with warmth. "As am I milady," Legolas returned her smile with one of his own. Arwen turned to Estel and gave him her greeting in the form of a kiss. "Dinner is ready," she said. Then she turned back to the two Shirefolk who had yet to join the rest. "Are you going to join us, or shall we wait for you in the dining hall?"

The two looked at one another as if silently having a discussion of great debate and contemplation. Then they turned back to their waiting friends. "Well..." Merry began as if in reluctance. He sighed and shared a resigned look with his close friend. Their faces contorted into barely retrained grins. "I suppose we'll just have to join you." They then raced over and tackled the elf, all three collapsing in a laughing heap. "It's wonderful to see you again Legolas!" Merry exclaimed. "You should have come sooner!" Pippin added.

"If I had known you were here I would have!" Legolas laughed. "You two have one of the strangest sense of humor I have ever encountered. I never would have thought you'd choose greeting a friend over meeting them at the dinner table."

The two tried to appear injured around the wide grins they were wearing. "Who said we did? You were merely in the way!" Pippin exclaimed.

"Speaking of which, I suggest we all go eat before the food gets cold," Aragorn chuckled, and led the way towards the dinning hall. Merry and Pippin helped Legolas to his feet, and then followed the man. They all took seats and began eating, discussing in between mouthfuls what each had been doing since they had last seen one another, and about recent events in their respective homelands. Merry and Pippin were giving an account on how good the last pipe-weed harvest had been and how Gimli would have to critique it when he arrived.

"Hopefully Faramir and I will still be in Linhinenet when that happens." Legolas remarked lightly, yet with a wry undertone. Aragorn chuckled and gave the elf a sympathetic look. Legolas hated the smoke from burning pipeweed, and as a result he and Gimli usually refrained from participating in the pastime while their friend was around as a courtesy. But that didn't prevent him from teasing the woodland being about it from time to time. "I'm sure that he will. I found it quite good myself. I believe that when he gets here we should all have some and as a group come up with a final decision regarding its quality." Aragorn's smile became a vicious grin when Legolas leveled an unamused glare at him.

"I think I'll pass on that offer mellon nin, and take Arod out for exercise instead."

"I'll go also, my horse would enjoy it," said Arwen. She as well wasn't thrilled by the thought of a room full of pipe smoke. Few elves were.

"I wouldn't much mind a smoke at this point," Faramir said as he and Beregond strode into the room. "In fact I think I'll join you in your endeavor if I get back in time." He and his captain took seats and settled into meal and conversation both. Merry and Pippin were overjoyed to see Beregond again, and soon the three, joined after a bit by Sam and Frodo, were involved in a lively conversation, Beregond promising to involve himself in their smoking convention.

"Is everything ready for tomorrow Faramir?" Aragorn asked.

Faramir took a drought of wine to clear his throat, then answered with a relieved sigh, "Yes, it is. Two hundred will ride out at dawn. Valar willing most will return, though I hold no illusions that we will not suffer losses if it comes down to a fight."

Aragorn, Legolas and Arwen all nodded. Each knew the Southmen were vicious and ruthless on the battle field. They would give no quarter and show no mercy. The casualties would not be overwhelming, but should the battle come more than a few of the dead would be wearing the badge of the White Tree, the symbol of Gondor.

"The worst losses will come if we have to engage in full-out, hand-to-hand combat. If we can take down most from a distance the death toll will be less, but if we have to attack them in their camp this will be difficult." Faramir's gaze was sorrowful, yet resolute. He hated losing men to the enemy's swords, but unless the Haradrim had a more peaceful pupose in Gondor, there wasn't much he could do except his ultimate best to outsmart the invaders and cause more damage to their numbers than they did to his. "It will be even more difficult, since they seem inclined to attack under cover of darkness, if they do at all. I would simply go for an assault on their camp myself, but we can't tell if they will leave some men in their camp as decoys and come around and attack with the main force through the village."

"That is why Legolas is going with you," Aragorn reminded him, making his voice sound reassuring.

"You have no need to fear the night, Faramir, the darkness is no shield against my eyes, for my people learned long ago to see through it, otherwise the Necromancer would have destroyed us or driven us from our home long before his death. That skill is one that is not easily forgotten, and I assure you it will serve you well tomorrow." Legolas sought to ease Faramir's mind, yet the Steward was not so easily convinced of the elf prince's abilities. He had not personally witnessed them in action as Aragorn or the rest of the Fellowship had, and never had he been called upon to rely so heavily on them as he was now. Never would he think that Legolas would betray them, he simply was unsure if the elf's abilities were really as acute as Legolas and Aragorn claimed.

"So you say Master Elf, yet how can I be absolutely sure of this, considering I have not the senses of the elves?" He did not mean to sound distrustful of the woodland being, but the thought of leading hundreds to their deaths as he had done trying to take back Osgiliath from Sauron's forces after it had been taken from them by orcs and the Nazgul filled him with horror. Never again did he wish to be filled with the knowledge that his misjudgment caused such needless death.

Aragorn's voice was hard, his tone laced with fire. He could understand Faramir's reserve, but he had worked closely with Legolas and the other Ithilien elves for over a year now, he knew the elf would not make false claims in a situation such as this. "You have _my _assurances. I would not send him with you to serve as your eyes in the dark if he were not capable– "

Aragorn stopped speaking when Legolas held up his hand and gave the king a look that plainly told him to allow him a chance to defend himself. Respectfully Aragorn turned the conversation over to his friend, hoping he could make Faramir see that he could trust in the elf's abilities. Legolas nodded to him in thanks, then turned to the Steward, who returned his gaze with a hard stare of his own, not openly challenging the elf, but definitely ready and willing to take on anything that Legolas had to dish out.

The hobbits and Beregond had become aware of the dispute, and watched the elf closely to see what he would do. Legolas simply met the man's hard gaze with a calm, even one of his own. For a few moments all became silent and still. The others watched and waited to see the outcome, while Aragorn and Beregond were ready to jump in and separate the two if a fight broke out. They exchanged private looks, communicating subtlety and decided that if a fight broke out Aragorn would be the one to restrain Legolas and Beregond would take down Faramir.

Faramir and Legolas, however, remained oblivious to all of this. Locked into each other's stares, they ignored everything else. Faramir for his part would have liked to have looked away from the elf prince's piercing gaze, yet found himself strangely unable to. In the fair being's eyes was an unspoken command not to look away, to see the truth and honesty in his eyes, his soul. To hear what he had to say and not let fear deafen him to the reality that he could trust him. To hear the truth of what he said. There was also a hint of regret that it took the full power of an elven gaze to make him see that this was one unknown he could put his faith in. So entranced was he by that gaze he almost didn't hear Legolas speak.

"One does not need the sight of the Eldar to see what is or what is going on around or in front of you. All you have to do is try to see it for what it actually is, not what it appears to be." His voice was soft and honest. And kind. There was no bitterness or malice in its tones. As he finished speaking Legolas's eyes softened, and Faramir felt his self-control return to him. He looked away, and spent the next few moments staring at his hands as he tried to process what had just happened. The honesty in Legolas' voice and eyes made it impossible for him not to at least give the elf the benefit of the doubt, and accept the help he had offered and the advantage to his troops it would bring.

Earlier he had been grateful for the fair-haired elf's help. But as the stress of the day and going back to the front lines after leading so disastrous an assault the last time he had lead a troop into a fight had mounted, the fear of a repeat of that event became an obsessive compulsion. That anything that could go wrong had to be addressed beforehand, and every possible weakness in their plan be eliminated.

Now he could see how his fear of failing again was creating an opportunity for disaster in and of itself. It had taken the gaze of the prince of Mirkwood to make him see that and regain control of himself. _I must not let my fear of the past cause me to make the same mistakes again. Aragorn and Legolas have never been anything but honest. If they say Legolas can see the enemy's movements in the dark and can discover their intent then I will believe them. During the day his senses are far better than anyone else's that I have seen so far, except for other elves, who' are as good as his. Why should it not be any different at night? And like he said, he is from Mirkwood. If anyone should have the right to claim to have such great night vision, it is the elves of Thranduil's realm._

This calm reasoning while his head was clear and he was no longer internally panicking from fear and stress allowed Faramir to see the great strategic loss it would be if Legolas did not come with them. _And Aragorn is nothing like my father was. He wouldn't send me off on some suicide mission._

In truth Denethor had sent Faramir on that doomed mission to Osgiliath, but neither had he objected or cared that his younger son was leaving on a mission that had no hope of succeeding. At least not until Faramir had returned alone of the two hundred that had ridden out, with an arrow in him and a deadly malady laid on him. Aragorn had been able to heal him, but no one could help Denethor. The madness that had long festered in the Steward's mind had become too much upon seeing his last living child in such a state, and at his bidding, and he took his own life as a result, leaving Faramir as the last living of the House to carry on in his father's place.

Faramir shook his head, refusing to dwell on such painful thoughts. Suddenly he wished he had not left Eowyn in Ithilien. She had been helping him greatly to undo all of the damage the bad relationship with his father had done, though few knew about it. He didn't want anyone else to know lest they think him unable to perform his duties as Steward. And he hated to be fussed over for such a reason, to show such an incapability to deal with something he had been dealing with for years. Eowyn he wouldn't mind talking to. As husband and wife they kept nothing from one another, and she could always tell somehow when he needed such aid. She had understood from the beginning, and had never thought less of him for it.

But Eowyn wasn't here. She was taking care of business for him back in Ithilien, and wouldn't be able to join him in the White City for at least another week. Suddenly he realized that the others were staring at him, except for Legolas, who had thankfully decided that the Steward had endured enough of his stare for awhile.

He looked around at each of his friends in turn, his gaze finally settling on Aragorn. "Forgive me, I have been under much stress, but that is no excuse for my conduct towards you."

He then turned to Legolas, who met his gaze with one that was far less potent than the last one had been. "During all of the trials of the war your senses have never lied nor led anyone astray. It was wrong of me to doubt them simply because I have not witnessed their full potential as others here have. It is no reason to distrust you and I apologize for my words to you. My troops and I would be honored and eternally grateful to have your aid. Will you still ride with us?" He quietly waited for a response. It was not long in coming.

"Of course I will still ride with you and yes I forgive you. You are not the only one to have doubted in others, and as others did not begrudge me then neither will I begrudge you now."

He shared a smile with Aragorn, who knew exactly to what the elf referred. "And I as well forgive you Faramir. I have seen others in such doubt before, and haven't held it against them; neither will I do so now."

Faramir wondered for a moment what past event the two were referring to, but did not ask, for it was none of his business. After that talk resumed, and the atmosphere became cheerful and pleasant again, with everyone pushing thoughts of the Haradrim and tomorrow to the back of their minds and simply enjoying each other's company.

The morning found the weather even more threatening. The clouds were dark and would not hold back their moisture through another night. Some were surprised it had not begun to rain the night before.

The company that was to set out for Linhinentet was assembled and ready to leave. Aragorn stood with Faramir and Legolas. "When this is over and the town secure I need you back here if you are able," Aragorn said to Faramir.

"I will when I am able my lord," Faramir answered.

Aragorn turned to Legolas. "Take care, my friend." He looked at Faramir as well. "Both of you. I curse my position now that it does not allow me to go with you."

"Do not waste your time regretting something you cannot change. We will be back, Aragorn," Legolas said. "Battle is not new to us. It will take a force far darker than the men of Harad to keep us from returning."

Above them sitting on the head of one of the tall statues scattered throughout the city Erd listened to their conversation, as is a spy's job. He gave the men and elf below him an ironic look and thought: _"A force far darker than the men of Harad _will_ keep you from returning. Though Faramir will come back. After a time."_

"Nevertheless take heed. Something is making me uneasy yet it is not the Haradrim. It is something else, something better hidden. It makes me fear for your safety. Were it not for the threat to Gondor I would follow the council of my heart and bid you to stay here." Aragorn looked resigned and his eyes held a nameless worry in their depths. Legolas stepped forward and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We shall return Aragorn, I promise you. I share your unease and will be more alert for it."

He could tell the former ranger felt powerless against his foreboding, and was chafing at the knowledge that he could do naught to protect his friends once they left the city. He sympathized with him, but other than offer his reassurance to the man there was not much he could do. "If it is at all within my power, I will make sure both of us come back."

Erd looked at the elf knowingly, giving him an appraising stare. The Firstborn looked strong and capable, but lacked the unique air that surrounded only those who know magick. He cocked his head to the side. _"I don't think it is within your power. But you're welcome to try anyway. I know the source of your foreboding is interested in finding a test subject for that spell he's been studying so hard." _The sparrow then looked away, as if he had found something more interesting to gaze at, so none would think him unusual, though to him the thought of being normal was absurd. _"Ha! If only they knew. But if they did it would foul up our plans. So it is our bliss that they remain ignorant."_

Yet though a stable boy giving a horse's tack a last check before handing him off to his rider now commanded his gaze, he never ceased to listen to what the people in the group just below him were saying.

Aragorn smiled in gratitude and put his hand on the elf's shoulder, returning the gesture. "Thank you Legolas. I will hold you to that."

"And you can hold me to the same, but we should now depart," said Faramir with an honest look at his king. "If we leave now we will reach Linhinenet by mid afternoon. If the storm doesn't break on us and slow us up."

"I pray it doesn't," Aragorn answered.

Faramir turned and mounted his horse, a tall chestnut gelding with three white feet. Legolas leapt onto Arod's back, the packs containing his bedroll, armor, and other supplies secured behind him by a harness that would allow him to have the horse carry saddlebags even though he rode bareback. Beregond and the other White Company guards rode up so they would be able to surround Faramir once they were clear of the city. The hobbits joined Aragorn. They had been having a quiet conversation with Beregond and now came over to say farewell to their other friends.

"Both of you take care and come back quick now," Merry said.

"Yea," Pippin added. "I heard rumors of a feast when you come back. You wouldn't want to put that on hold now would you?"

"That was supposed to be a surprise, Pippin, and with the amount you hobbits eat we'll need them to be gone for awhile so we'll have time to prepare enough food!" Aragorn admonished. Merry elbowed his friend who was looking quite sheepish. Sam cast his eyes to the heavens and shook his head in exasperation.

Faramir, Legolas, and Beregond laughed. "In that case we'll be sure to stay in Linhinenet a few days longer!" Beregond said, holding his ribs.

"More like a few months," Legolas quipped. This time they all laughed, though Aragorn felt a twinge in his chest at the elf prince's words, but this he discarded for he knew his friend spoke only in jest.

He had faith that Legolas, Faramir, and Beregond would all come back in a few days. Whether or not he'd be nursing them back to health from various wounds and both cursing and threatening them for not complying with said nursing he wasn't sure, but he had the promise of both Legolas and Faramir that they wouldn't let anything stop them from coming back. And he knew all to well that when either made a promise, they would fight like game-cocks to keep it. He refused to think that they might not, for then he'd only pace sullen and agitated until they did, and he knew full well that neither Arwen, Legolas, Faramir, or the hobbits would stand for that.

Unnoticed by the rest of the group Frodo neither joined in with their conversation, nor laughed with them, though he managed to chuckle absently. He simply stood off to the side, and while everyone else was conversing, as he had done most of the time since they had come out to see off their friends and the other soldiers. His right hand was buried deep in the pocket of his jacket, seemingly fingering something, and he had a distracted and far away look on his face.

On his way to Gondor he had stopped to see Bilbo in Rivendell. While there Bilbo had given him a trinket that he claimed was part of the treasure he had brought back from the Lonely Mountain. It was a short gold chain and on it, in a setting of mithril, dangled a gem whose beauty he supposed could have rivaled the famed Arkenstone, for it seemed to glow like captured moonlight, fair and pure. Indeed in its round cut it seemed a miniature version of the full moon. Yet it somehow was not overly ostentatious, being only an inch in diameter, unlike the larger Heart of the Mountain.

Frodo had been puzzled by the gift, yet had taken it as Bilbo insisted that it was one of his possessions that should have gone to him with Bag End. He had only kept it when he had left to go live with the elves because it had reminded him enough of the Arkenstone that he hoped it would help him to better remember every detail he could of his adventures with Thorin and Company. Along with the log he had kept the later half of his journey, he said it was of great help to him in finishing his book. After concluding _There and Back Again_ he had put the gem away, and had not thought of it again until just before Frodo and the other hobbits' visit on their way east, when he had been rummaging through his chest and had stumbled across it.

Still Frodo did not know what to do with it. He had no use for it and found that it was now driving him to distraction. Especially with the anxiety he had been feeling over watching the worry and foreboding in Aragorn's eyes, the tenseness in his stature whenever he thought no one was looking, and now also watching three good friends of his go off to battle.

Looking up he saw Sam bid farewell to Legolas and Faramir, the hobbits having all said goodbye to Beregond already, and realized that he had only a moment to wish them well before they left.

Walking over to Faramir he looked up at the Steward upon his tall gelding. "Bilbo used to say that walking out your door was a dangerous business, yet I pray that it be not overly dangerous for once."

On top of the statue Erd snorted in amusement and wondered if the hobbit would consider what was about to happen to the Steward 'overly dangerous'. _Probably so_,he decided.

Faramir leaned down to clasp the Ringbearer's hand. "I hope so too," he said.

Frodo then turned to Legolas. Later on he would never be able to look back and say exactly what caused him to do it, it was pure spur-of-the-moment impulse. But it felt like something was telling him that it was the right thing to do so he went along with it.

Reaching into his pocket he brought out the moon-like gem and reaching up placed it in the elf's hand, closing his fingers around it. "Bilbo gave this to me, yet something tells me you should be the one to keep it," he said, suddenly filled with the feeling that he had done the right thing but unsure of the elf's reaction. Unlike some, Legolas wasn't taken to wearing jewelry. The only ornament Frodo had ever seen him wear was a simple silver crown at Aragorn's coronation. But he didn't give the elf time to react as he stepped back from Arod's side to stand with Aragorn, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. "Come back safe," he said. "Thank you my friend, I will," Legolas nodded, yet before he could look at what Frodo had placed in his hand, Aragorn spoke to the entire company and he looked over at his longtime friend.

"May the blessings of the Valar go with you, and may your journey be swift. Go now with my blessings and the blessings of Gondor and its entire people. For you go now to ensure our enemies do not ruin the peace this nation has finally claimed after being denied it for so long, and we are forever grateful."

Faramir and the rest of the men then saluted the king and when he returned it the Steward gave the signal to ride out. Legolas placed his right hand over his heart and swept it outward in an elvish salute. Aragorn returned the gesture and watched as the elf urged Arod on with the others.

"_Namarrie_, my friends," he murmured, as they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Try as he might he could not dispel the feeling that this would be the last time they were all of them together as thus for a long while. He steeled himself though and determined that he would find a way to get away from such thoughts somehow, as he and the hobbits turned and walked back to the House of the King. Then on impulse he redirected his path.

The hobbits at first traded questioning glances, wondering where he was going. Then they realized that the king was heading in the other direction, to the ship's keel shaped bastion of stone that all but split the city in twain from the second level all the way up to the seventh. The seventh level itself was built on top of the stone bastion, and from it one could see for miles, all the way to Mordor even.

Because of the forests and hills they could not see Linhinenet from there, though Legolas may have been able to spot the Erui River and estimate where the farming town was. But even though they had not their elven friend's far-seeing eyes, they could at least track the company's journey down the South Road for a good distance.

With but a single glance at one another they mutually consented that this was where they would stay until their friends disappeared from sight altogether. And Aragorn realized that while this was not half as reassuring to him as riding out with the company would have been, it did give him some comfort and got his mind off of the thought that he might not ever see his friends again. For few there are that could behold such a gorgeous and breathtaking view, even under threat of storm, and not find some sort of hope. Which is what Aragorn, son of Arathorn found now.

Erd waited until he saw the Steward and the elf disappear from view, and the king and hobbits walk away. Then he jumped from his perch and his wings beat a rapid tattoo in the air as he flitted back and forth in a haphazard pattern to ensure no one would think him following them. Especially the elf, who would of all of them most likely be the one to discover his trailing them if he wasn't cautious in how his behavior appeared to any that saw him.

He kept this up until the group passed out of the Great Gates and onto the fields. After that he made sure to fly high and behind them, as seasons of spy work had taught him, or low to the ground near the horses legs at the back of the group. And by employing such moves none of the two hundred men or solitary elf ever noticed that the size of their company had increased by one. Nor did the king or halfling quartet that watched over them as they traveled down the road that took them farther away from friend and family with every step.

TBC

**A/N**

**Well, I am very well aware that it was much more than a week before this update, and I apologize for it. Constantly having to battle both family and real life agenda is not helpful in getting new chapters out quickly at all, as I'm sure some writers can relate. Anyway I got this chapter out as soon as I could and I promise you that I was working on it tirelessly. Chapter two I hope to get out sooner than chapter one, though it would go more quickly if my characters as well as Tolkien's would stop talking so much. Mine didn't do much talking since only one was in this installment, but nevertheless I did not originally plan on him doing half as much talking as he did! _(sigh)_ They just don't realize how much space dialogue takes up. (And if my family would let me have the computer uninterrupted for a few days.....) Never did I intend to have a twenty-six page chapter! Though I'm sure you readers didn't mind it too much. Oh well. I won't deter them too much, since it enhances the quality of the fic in my opinion and gives room for some comic relief from all the angst. Angst and war and strife and all that other jazz are good but it needs in my opinion some comedy to round it all off. Other wise you just die of shock and heart failure or drown yourself in your own tears. Especially in suspense stories and tear-jerker fics. **

**But I've chattered enough. It's almost ****1:25**** in the morning and I have places to be later this morning. (I hate having to get up early, unless it's to go to a horse show. Or to beat my sisters to the computer so I can work on my fanfics. _Grin_) But I've idly chit-chatted enough. Now for the reviewer responses:**

**Partheon**:** Thank you so much, you were my first reviewer. _(gives hug)_ I'm glad you thought the skeletal man was frightening. I wanted him to be but he is the first villain I've tried to write so far and I wasn't sure he would come out that way. It's good to know I've hit my mark. Because this is my first fic I sometimes feel as if someone blindfolded me, shoved me into a room, put a bow and arrow into my hands and told me to shoot a target. Only they didn't tell me where the target is! So your review made me feel a lot better. I try to correct as many errors as I can before posting, but some may still come up. I did notice I was using a semi-colon a lot but wasn't sure if it was correct of not. This chapter I used the colon more. I'm also glad that I gave away just the right amount of info. That was another thing I wasn't entirely sure of. Again I want to say thank you. I showed the reviews to my mom when I printed them out and she said yours was beautiful. And it was. It made this chapter I think come out a lot better than the last. And next chapter we get to see more of the "cute, corrupted little animals"! _(grin)_**

**Elfbabe009:**** Thanks also to you. I'm glad you liked the ideas. I try to get away from conventional stuff. That's why I take inspiration from a variety of sources. That's also why I used the corrupted animals. In Tolkien's books a lot of animals could talk. That means they were at least somewhat intelligent. Therefore they could probably be corrupted like people if the right tactics were used. After the ring wars Middle Earth is kinda low on bad guys and I didn't feel like writing about large groups of evil people (except the Haradrim because I needed them) or orcs. So why not animals then since they're the last group left and no one ever suspects them? Unless of course they're wargs or wolves or crebain. Therefore it's a lot more surprising to our heros when they find out a duck or chipmunk might be after them. Still I'm glad you liked it and I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for more.**

**Raksha**** the Demon:**** Interesting name you have. Thanks for reviewing. I updated as soon as I could. Titles don't always come easy for me. Part of the reason my other fic isn't out is because it doesn't have a name. I'm more the type of person who writes out the whole story first and then comes up with a name for it. Sindarin Fox was simply the best thing I could come up for it just by looking at my summary (which on the internet keeps changing because I think it sucks), and knowing where I ultimately want the story to go. In the end I think the name may seem more appropriate. Or if I come up with something I think better suits it I'll repost it under that. Until then, Sindarin Fox it is. Still, as long as the fic itself is good I don't think the title will kill it too much. At least I hope not. Anyway I'm glad you liked it. The evil fellow is being particularly vicious. I almost made him go sleep in the middle of the highway because he was coming up with such dastardly things to do to poor Faramir. I didn't because I need him for the story, but I did tie him up with duct tape over his mouth while I wrote this chapter. Now I have to go let him out for the next one. Maybe I'll put a choke-chain on him to keep him under control. Don't worry though. Plenty of Faramir-angst in this fic, so be sure to give him lots of hugs and hot chocolate. Save some hugs and hot coco for the others though, because they've got their share of strife coming to, especially Legolas. In some ways I think the elf gets it worse than the Steward! Glad you thought the plot looks promising, reading that made me more determined to make it intricate and multi-dimensional, like real life is, but at the same time still understandable and easy to follow.**

**Arayelle**** Lynn:**** Thanks. Glad you thought it sounded creepy too. Hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much, though there wasn't really much action in it except people running around and having really unfair staring contests. Next chapter has actual fight scenes in it, and the speed should pick up a bit. **

**As I said, reviews make me write more and get chapters out more quickly. If not for the four wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter it would have been even longer before this one came out. So all you other wonderful people out there please (gives patented Puss in Boots eyes) send one over. Remember, no flames though. Thanks. Until next time, "drink up me hearties, yo ho!" (Again, I couldn't resist. _Grin_)**


	3. Linhinenet

**A/N**

**Hi again. I wanted to get this chapter out before I go away. I'll be out camping for a week and will have no computer access. Gasp. Don't get me wrong. I love being outdoors. But it's weird not being able at the end of the day to come in and work on this story. Still I plan to get the whole of chapter 4 (since everyone counts the prologue as a chapter) written out while I'm out there so that when I come back I can type it up and post it almost right away. And thanks again to all the wonderful people who reviewed. So as a reward here's chapter three. Which to be politically correct is actually chapter two. Not that any of you care, you just want the story update. Can't say I blame you. _Lights!_**

Note: Full disclaimers and such can be found in the prologue. I repeat: I don't own LOTR!

Chapter Two: Linhinenet

Faramir indeed did not allow for much rest along the way. Setting the pace at a quick but not tiring gait they spent much of the journey on the South Road, the road that would lead them into Harad itself if they chose to follow it that far, which they did not. For a while if they turned around in their saddles they would still be able to see the White City gleaming against the mountains like a ghost of legend. But due to landscape and distance there came a point at which even Legolas lost sight of Gondor's great city.

The going was easy and smooth which aided them in keeping their set pace. At first the ominousness of their mission caused the soldiers to ride in silence. Yet as they found themselves further from home and closer to their enemies they actually began to ease up a bit, though ever did they remain on the alert. Isolated conversation sprang up, and the men gladly took part in it to ease the tension, though one stern look from their commanders was all that was needed to ensure the volume stayed at a minimum.

As when he was traveling with the White Company the day before, Legolas kept to himself and focused on the trees and hills they passed by. Faramir simply either discussed softly with Beregond their options for dealing with the southern threat, or rode in silent contemplation. Beregond for his part kept an eye on his surroundings when he was not talking with Faramir.

As soon as they had gotten a league from the city men had been assigned the job of acting as scouts. Three now rode in front of the group, three more behind. Still it made Beregond feel more easy to check the surroundings out himself. He trusted the men they had assigned to make sure they were neither followed nor ambushed, but watching the terrain gave him something to do to pass the time.

His gaze wandered through the treetops, over the heads of the other White Company Guards. They currently surrounded Faramir and Legolas, mostly to protect the Steward. The elf could ride anywhere he pleased, but had been riding near the prince of Ithilien and so had gotten caught in the Company's protective circle when they had left the Great Gates. Beregond himself rode at the center with the Steward in case the man needed to talk with him. Which had proven to be the case.

Now, however, Faramir had once again fallen into a phase of silence and he was left to himself. Shifting his gaze ahead of the group he happened to sight the elven member of their group. For the moment the elf had left off visually searching his surroundings, though the captain could tell by his posture that he was still listening for any disturbances other than the dozens of fully armed people riding behind him.

An unexpected slip on an exposed tree root caused Arod to skitter to the side, snorting in displeasure. The guards were quick and careful to keep their horses out of the stallion's way while Legolas calmed him. Beregond watched in admiration of the skilled horsemanship that was being displayed in front of him as the elf kept his seat and calmly used his soft voice and gentle touch to bring Arod back under control.

The former Citadel guard had observed the horse of Rohan several times when Legolas had brought him to Emyn Arnen where Faramir and Eowyn dwelt in North Ithilien. Arod was fiery and stubborn, just like his master could be when he had a mind to. In fact Beregond had noticed that Arod was almost impossible to handle when Legolas wasn't there to at least tell him to behave, but when the elf was around the high spirited grey was as docile as a kitten. Having an elf for a rider these past few years had made the animal much more willful than any other horse Beregond had seen with the exception of Shadowfax, reinforcing and releasing a fiery spirit that had always been somewhat held back before the equine had met the son of Thranduil.

At that moment however his attention was drawn from Legolas and Arod as a small grey streak flashed in front of his own horse, causing the animal to snort and stop short, resulting in a chain reaction with several people behind him. "Is everything alright sir?" one of them asked, his voice respectful yet somehow managing to convey his annoyance clearly.

"Yes, a bird just startled him that's all." Beregond spoke a few reassuring words to the mare and urged her on. Faramir had seen what had happened and slowed his gelding down in case the bay mare gave his captain any more trouble.

When Beregond got his horse straightened out and cantered a few paces forwards to join him again he signaled his horse to pick up the pace. Legolas and the others in front of them had slowed as well when the mare had spooked and now moved on again. Now however everyone's attention was being drawn to the horses, who were all acting a bit agitated. They had just been too preoccupied before with scouting and keeping a quick pace to notice much.

Legolas on the other hand had sensed a shadow on their surroundings, and had only vaguely acknowledged his companions and their current difficulties. Throwing his senses outward he had picked up a basic position located somewhere to the right of the Road. It was deep into the woods and he could tell it wasn't getting any closer, but he still was wary. Something about it held the essence of Warg, but at the same time felt much like the unease he and Aragorn had been feeling of late. Yet if he focused exclusively on the foreboding and tried to pair it with a location he still ended up with his focus being drawn to the south, not to the west as this dark tendril was.

Legolas felt himself begin to tense as they continued on. Arod picked up on his rider's unease and began to dance sideways, pawing at the ground, ready to take off should Legolas only give the word. He could tell there was danger nearby; so could the other horses. They started to toss their heads and huff in distress as their riders tried to calm them.

Faramir and Beregond looked pointedly at the elf for some sort of explanation. Unless they figured out how what was scaring the equines the entire company was going to end up unseated and faced with the prospect of chasing over two hundred frightened horses, all of which carried the men's food and other provisions tied to their saddles.

Speaking to Arod in elvish to keep him relatively calm, Legolas focused all of his attention on the forest to their right. Straining his eyes, he sought to see through the trees what it was that had sent the horses skittering and his senses screaming that danger was near.

A warning jolted through him and his head whipped around further to the right, almost behind them. Just under the low boughs of a tree about fifty feet from the road was a Warg. Its small ears swivelled backwards and its eyes narrowed as its lips drew back into a silent snarl. A second Warg appeared beside the first, and a third padded up to crouch closer to the road.

In a split second the elf's bow was in his hand, an arrow notched and ready to be fired. Faramir saw his reaction and knew they were in danger. But the elf had yet to tell him what the danger was and he and the rest of the men were being forced to focus all of their attention on keeping the horses under control. Until the immortal gave the danger an identity they were helpless.

Legolas was already sighting in on the closest of the monstrous creatures, but paused just long enough to spit out one hate filled word. "Wargs."

Faramir's eyes widened for a split second and he let out a curse under his breath. No Wargs had been sighted in this area for over a year. This certainly put a kink into their journey. He set his mouth in a grim line, and nodded at the elf. "Take them down." He and the others knew distance weapons were the first and often safest choice when dealing with the foul wolves of Mordor. It was all the command he had time to give as his gelding screamed and reared, almost spilling him onto the ground.

To a creature such as an equine, the smell of death, blood and decay that accompanies wolves and other predators is as terrifying as the rattle of a rattlesnake. The horses the company rode were well conditioned to the vigors and demands of military life, yet inborn instinct is all but impossible to override. Humans and elves and other people trained to override it of self will can do so at need, but to prey animals such instincts are encouraged, for in the wild they are sometimes the difference between life and death.

Legolas was already in motion, using calf muscles long conditioned to do almost anything bareback that a person could do with a saddle and stirrups. He griped Arod's sides tighter and pushed himself off the stallion's back, into something resembling a standing position. This added height aided him in aiming over the others' heads. Sighting on the third Warg's eye he straightened his fingers and let his arrow fly.

It never struck flesh. Instead it struck the trunk of another tree, sinking half of its length into the tough fiber.

Just as he had released the missile a streak of gray and white shot out of the forest canopy and struck the beast on top of its skull, angling the drop so the Warg would see it out of the corner of its eye and reflexively move.

The maneuver caused the canine to drop its head several inches. Just enough that Legolas' arrow missed, leaving the Warg annoyed but unscathed, with the exception of a cut over its right eye from the interferer's claws. The bird itself, a sparrow from the look of it, swung around and started emitting a series of outraged chirps. The sheer speed and angle at which the winged creature came in with had allowed it to also escape the elvish arrow without injury.

Legolas couldn't believe what he was seeing. A sparrow helping a Warg? This was certainly something he had never heard of before, let alone seen. There was no doubt in his mind that if someone told him they'd witnessed something like this he would have thought them drunk or suffering from some other ailment.

Swifter than the eye could follow he had another arrow drawn back and ready for another attempt when he saw another sight that he never expected. The Wargs all turned and ran back into the forest, out of sight and out of range faster than a dark breath of wind. What was even more astonishing was the fact that the sparrow, after sparing him a quick glance, followed them.

It was common knowledge that both Sauron and Saruman used a wide variety of spies before and during the war, but it was also known that those spies would never risk their lives to help their comrades unless those comrades had something their master wanted. And they never used Wargs except to aid the orcs or to hunt something down. Legolas knew there were no orcs about, he would have sensed them by now.

And both the Dark Lord and Saurman were destroyed, so other than the Warg packs and crebain flocks (which would stay for the most part together) the spies should all be dispersed, not working together, and certainly not in Gondor. So why then had the sparrow helped the Warg? And why had they left like that, giving up on prey that must have seemed so easy to take? And why did the sparrow follow them?

All of these questions and more spun through Legolas' head almost faster than he could keep up. Normally he might have followed the Wargs to destroy them and to find out the answers to the queries that plagued him but there were others that needed his immediate attention. Perhaps Faramir would let him hunt the Wargs and join them in Linhinenet later on that evening.

With those thoughts the elf removed his attention from the place where the enemy had been standing a moment ago and refocused it on the Steward, who was just now regaining control of his gelding. The other horses were calming down too now that their mortal enemies were gone, but they still shifted and looked around nervously from time to time.

Faramir looked around to make sure that everyone was alright and no one had been thrown or mauled. Seeing that the company was intact he met the gaze of the immortal.

"Are they gone?"

"Yes, but it was the manner in which they left that concerns me." Legolas could not keep the troubled look from his eyes, something Faramir picked up on immediately. "Tell me," he said.

Legolas's gaze flicked over to where the Wargs had been stalking them, then he looked back at the Steward. "I fired at the one that was the closest. At the last moment a sparrow dove out of the trees and flew into the Warg's head. It moved just far enough that my arrow missed. I drew another arrow to try again, but the Wargs– there were only three of them– ran off. What was the most strange though, was that after the sparrow hit the Warg," he shook his head and corrected himself, though the correct words seemed even more incredible than the incorrect ones, "_saved_ the Warg, the bird started chirping as if it was admonishing the beast. Then all three Wargs ran off, and stranger still, the sparrow followed them."

Saying what he had seen troubled the elf even more than just thinking about it. It was a story no one in these times would believe. He wouldn't. Yet he was asking others to. With Aragorn he knew he would at least be given a chance to prove himself right, but Faramir didn't know him quite so well as Isildur's heir. Would he still be given that chance? Or would Faramir simply think him crazy or mistaken and order the company to move on?

Faramir hadn't seen what had happened. No one had, except the elf. All of the men had been consumed with the task of trying to keep the horses from bolting. The chaos had gone on without abating until the Wargs had left. Looking at the expression on the fair being's face he knew Legolas was serious. He also knew the elf well enough to know he wouldn't make up something like this in a situation such as they were in. Therefore he must have been mistaken. No sparrow would save the life of a Warg. The creature must simply have gotten too close to the bird's nest, and the avian was simply trying to protect its young by driving the Warg off. Yes, that was an answer the man could accept.

If he accepted the idea that a sparrow was helping Wargs he'd have to face a much more dire idea. That something far more dangerous than the Haradrim was out there, and its minions were finding their way deep into Gondorian territory without detection. That was something he did not wish to face without solid proof, and first he would have to deal with the threat in Linhinenet anyway.

"I do not doubt what you saw, Legolas," he said to the elf, who was waiting for his response. "I just think that bird may have been defending its territory rather than helping those Wargs. On our return to Minas Tirith we will spend some time tracking them to see if they are still anywhere in this area. I will also send a few riders to some of the nearby divisions to tell them Wargs have been sighted. If we don't find anything perhaps they will. For now though we must get moving if we are to reach the village before sunset." He looked at the rest of his men, who were waiting for his command. "We will move on. Stay on the alert in case those Wargs come back for another try at an attack."

With that he urged his horse onward. The rest of the company followed suit, keeping a close eye on their surroundings.

Legolas sat on a now placid Arod, simply staring unbelievingly at the Steward's retreating back, as the White Company moved around him back into formation to protect their lord. Watching the others move around him caused him to snap out of the stupor the Steward's dismissing words had put him in and he urged Arod forward. Weaving in between the White Company guards he came up next to Faramir, his face a mask of frustration and a hint of well-contained anger.

"So you will do nothing about it? Faramir I know you want the Haradrim out of Linhinenet but I know what I did and did not see. There was no nest." The Steward looked at him with a gaze that plainly said he should watch himself but the elf did not care. Something about this did not feel right and he learned long ago to trust such feelings. Still, an argument with Faramir would do nothing good so he softened up his tone merely so he and the man could communicate with reason rather than injured pride.

"I have watched birds defend their nests and their young many a time, and I'm telling you that that sparrow's behavior wasn't as innocent as that."

Faramir sighed, resigned to the knowledge that Legolas wouldn't let this go easily. "Fine then." He looked the elf in the eye and said with great but preoccupied patience, "What was it about that bird that has you so concerned?"

"He didn't simply dive at the Warg's head. Not the way birds do to simply drive a creature off. The dive was angled so the Warg would see him coming and move. He also actually struck the Warg as he passed like a falcon would. It looked as if he just wanted the Warg to move its head. And after that it hovered while it yelled at the beast. A bird protecting its nest would have dived multiple times to drive the Warg off, not once. The Warg seemed to listen to it also, because it stopped paying attention to us and its companions did the same. And the bird didn't harass them when it followed them. It also looked directly at me. Like it knew I was shooting at the Warg."

Legolas never took his eyes off of the Steward as he talked, trusting Arod to follow the horses in front of him and mind the road in case there were any holes or large rocks or other such obstacles that needed to be avoided. He understood the reason behind the man's caution, but he hoped Faramir would at least send a few men off now to warn the soldiers patrolling their assigned areas that there were Wargs close by that needed to be brought down.

"Please. At least either send a few men off now or let me go after them. I assure you I will make it to the village by sundown, whether I find them or not."

"No." Faramir didn't waste a moment answering that query. "I need you to aid us in getting through a part of the road further on that most likely will be plenty treacherous if I remember it correctly. And if it has changed much it likely will be for the worse." The Steward understood why the fair being did not want to waste any time in tracking down and hunting the canines, and normally he would have pursued them as well, yet current circumstances demanded he turn his attention elsewhere for the next two days at least. What Legolas said was disturbing, and definitely needed to be looked into, but it could wait.

Linhinenet couldn't.

"I share your concern, son of Thranduil, but this can wait two days. The patrols assigned this area will pursue the Wargs if they spot them. And there is enough large game around that I don't think they will go after people. We probably just came upon them as they were hunting so they decided to hunt us. It's happened before. We are needed elsewhere and have a job to do. We can't be sidetracked, or we could reach our destination to find a massacre."

Legolas' eyes burned and he almost visibly bristled with anger. The last two times he had given such a warning to someone he had been ignored or told that something else was of more concern.

The first incident had ended with the Fellowship getting chased out of Moria by orcs and losing Gandalf to a Balrog; one of the few remaining demons of Morgoth that still dwelled in Arda. Perhaps it was even the last of its kind, but they had lost Gandalf to it all the same: because they had lingered too long in Balin's tomb, though he had advised Aragorn that they should move on.

The second had been in Parth Galen. He had sensed a growing shadow and warned Aragorn that they should move to the eastern shore, though his friend's response had been that orcs patrolled there. In the end the Fellowship had been divided, Merry and Pippin captured by Uruk-hai, and Boromir slain from arrow wounds he had received trying to save the two hobbits as Aragorn, himself, and Gimli fought to reach him.

Twice he had warned someone that he sensed danger and they should hearken to it. Twice his warnings had gone unheeded. Twice it had ended with pain and heartache and grief. Twice he had not insisted that someone listen to him. Not again.

This time he would at least put up as much of a fight as he could without being insubordinate that someone would listen. Even if that someone happened to hold the princedom of Ithilien and the position of Steward of Gondor, thus making them his superior as far as social status went in this kingdom. Right now it mattered not to him. What did matter was that this warning wouldn't be followed by someone close to him dying, and everyone else being sent into a pit of grief.

"Faramir I hope just as much as you do that those Wargs don't have any motive greater than hunting for being here but what if they do? They would still have to hunt and humans and elves are seen as game to them. It's probably the only reason we saw them. But since they didn't get us they'll go after something else. Once they make their kill they will avoid being seen and may never be found. Be that so this might be our only chance to stop them. They may have even obtained their objective already and could be leaving. Two days may be too long."

Faramir had had enough. No, the Elf was not sworn into his service and therefore had more freedom of debate where his decisions were concerned. The fact that he was also a Lord of Gondor and a prince of a foreign land cemented this detail. At the same time though he was still a member of the company he was marching with. A company that was under Faramir's command. And while under his command, Legolas was bound to obey him, whether he agreed or not. He would have to draw the line as to how far the debates with the woodland being could go. He decided they had gone too far.

He turned his own angry glare at the elf and said in a cool and definitive voice, "You are not going after them Legolas. No one is. Not now. That is my final answer. Either you comply with that or I will bring you up on charges of insubordination when we get back to Minas Tirith. Understand?"

"Yes," Legolas growled, letting his anger and frustration into his voice to let the Steward know exactly what his opinion of that decision was.

Wheeling Arod around, he pushed past the men of the White Company and galloped back the way they had come, causing the other soldiers to pull their horses out of his way as fast as they could to avoid a collision. Not that one would have happened, for the elf was far too good a rider, but nevertheless it cleared a path for him quite effectively.

Faramir bit back several horrible curses that would put a pirate to shame and yanked his gelding to a short stop, turning him so he could watch the elf. The rest of the company, which had wisely tried to continue on and not engage or acknowledge in any possible way the battle of wills that was taking place, was forced to stop as well.

Beregond as well had stayed out of it but was now beginning to see that this mission was in no way going to be easy. Not with Faramir and Legolas clashing as they were. Silently he prayed to Iluvatar or any of the Valar that would listen that the elf would not follow the Wargs' path into the woods. If that happened he didn't know if he could stop Faramir from following the elf and starting a physical confrontation or having him arrested.

Legolas didn't look back as he halted Arod at the edge of the road, closest to where the Wargs had been. Purposefully he dismounted and walked into the foliage. Faramir's eyes darkened, Beregond prayed harder and the rest of the company seemed to hold their breath.

Their fears were proved unfounded however, as Legolas simply walked up to the tree his arrow was lodged into and with a swift, efficient tug pulled the arrow free and replaced it in his quiver after inspecting it to ensure it was undamaged. He then calmly walked back to the road, looking up into the trees for a moment, as if searching for something. He reached Arod's side and in less time than it took to blink an eye was remounted. With dignity and utmost grace he trotted back to the front of the company as if he had proven a point and had no more business associating with any of them. The action all but vocally dared the Steward to make a comment in regards to what he had just done.

Faramir was seething and he sought to burn a hole into the fair being with his wrathful eyes, to no avail. Legolas merely retaliated with his own ire-filled regard.

"You are pushing it _elf_," Faramir spat the word out as the slur it was. "I could have you thrown in the dungeons for that and even Elessar would be forced to agree that I am justified in my actions."

"You would cage me simply for retrieving my arrow?" Legolas knew he walked a thin line but he had been pushed too far to care. He didn't need to be here, he was volunteering his services to aid his friend's people. And despite Faramir having some jurisdiction over him the Steward did not own him. He could leave if he so chose and he could do so with the knowledge that even if Faramir did call him on it he had just as much chance of winning his case as Faramir did.

"I would cage you simply because you took deliberate action to show that my commands mean little to you and that you would rebel against them simply because they contradict with your own wishes!" Faramir put every bit of authority and force of command he could into reining in the elf, though few there were that could do so when said elf didn't want to be reined in, and right now he didn't want to be restrained– he wanted to fight. So he did.

"And I would remind you that my presence here is voluntary. If I decide to leave you can't stop me. We can take the matter up with Aragorn if you'd like but you'd still have to find a way to deal with the Haradrim on your own. I stay now only because I promised Aragorn I'd see to it that you come back to the city as unharmed as possible, but continue to disregard and ignore my aid and I will leave. You can be sure of that." Legolas was tired of always being either overlooked as an inconsequential fighting machine or stared at like some ghost of legend or mistrusted simply for being different from others by race. He was also not some tool to be used and then discarded, and he was not going to stand for being treated as such. Not here anyways.

"Watch it, Legolas, lest you go too far. You may be here of your own will but while you are with this company you are under my command, and you will obey that command."

Beregond knew this was going nowhere except a physical fight followed by a civil war between North and South Ithilien and quite possibly a war with the Woodland Realm as well. He had no desire to step anywhere near the two extremely irate people in front of him, quite the opposite actually, but for the sake of peace and completing their journey before sundown he found he had no choice. No one else was going to do this and of all of the soldiers present he had the best chance of getting through to the Steward.

Praying that looks would not suddenly gain the power to kill within the next few moments, and that he'd live through what he was about to do, he urged his horse towards the two verbal combatants. The mare fidgeted, picking up on his nervousness, playing with her bit and bobbing her head. He ignored her as he came into Legolas' notice and the elf's eyes shifted to watch him.

Faramir noticed the elf's eyes stop focusing on him and, stopping his current dialogue, turned to see what the blonde being found to be so much more interesting than their little confrontation. When he saw the captain of his personal guard he gave him a look that said loud and clear that his reason for interrupting them had better be good.

Beregond forced his mouth to open and his vocal chords to work properly, desperately fighting the urge to run away. The gaze Legolas turned on him wasn't half as bad as the one he had been giving Faramir. His quarrel was with the Steward not the captain. The son of Denethor, on the other hand, wore a visage that was barely under control, and Beregond feared that one wrong word could cause the man to unleash all of his fury at him. That was something he did not want.

"Forgive me my lord, but if we wish to join our comrades by sundown we must go now, or else we will have to traverse the trail by dark." Thank sweet Eru his voice had come out as he had wanted it to, matter-of-fact and strong.

Faramir took a deep breath and willed himself to let the anger drain out of him. Beregond was right. They had delayed far too long. Curse the elf for making things difficult. Because of their confrontation they would arrive probably at least an hour later than originally expected, and every moment was precious in preparing themselves and correctly evaluating the situation once they got there.

"Yes Beregond, you are right. We will move on." Somehow his voice came out calm and collected, not ire-filled and clipped.

As the company began to move off, the pace even quicker to make up for lost time, Faramir guided his gelding closer to Arod. Leaning towards the elf, he said, "We aren't finished yet Legolas. We will continue this when the time is more opportune."

"Come find me and we will," was the reply.

"I won't find you, I'll call you, or send one of my men to bring you." One way or another, the elf would learn to follow under his lead when circumstance called for him to. Otherwise his decisions and commands may as well be up for debate to all of his warriors.

"And if I don't come?"

"You will if you don't want this to escalate further than it already has."

"It is only escalating because I am trying to stop you from making a mistake. Which, by the way, you seem determined to make anyway!" Legolas was tired of this. Faramir and he were friends, if not the closest of which. Arguing with the man was not something he had set out to do, though if things kept going the way they did he and Faramir would argue for some time yet.

All he wanted was that someone would for once not wave him off when he tried to help. Perhaps he should just stop giving people warnings. Maybe if he told them after the fact he could get it through to them that such premonitions could be of actual use and that he gave them for a reason, not just for the sake of using his vocal chords.

In any case, fighting with the Steward was getting him nowhere except a dark, damp, underground cell. He had given Faramir a more extensive warning than anyone else in the recent past. Now it was up to the Steward. Either he would take it and put it to such good use as he could, or he wouldn't.

"I do not wish to fight with you Faramir. If you truly wish to wait to go after the Wargs, then go ahead. I can't stop you. I just hope you don't come to regret it later." Legolas' voice was soft, his countenance one of sorrow and perhaps a hint of pity. Or maybe fear. Fear that he should have pursued the Wargs when he had the chance and because he hadn't, things might become far worse than the son of Denethor bringing him up on insubordination charges later on.

Faramir turned away, refocusing on guiding his horse. In truth he had not expected Legolas to give up the fight like that. To be completely honest he would not have been surprised if that night he found himself fighting southmen, ordering the attack or counterattack and arguing heatedly with the elven prince all at the same time.

Another truth was that he was still mad at the Lord of South Ithilien , but at the same time he had no wish to start a feud with him either. The friendship he had been building with the elf, though a fledgling one, was something he wanted to continue building, not the other way around. And it would be counter productive to try and maintain a dispute with Legolas since they would need to work together for this one-night campaign to run and conclude itself as smoothly as he hoped it would. So for the sake of their young friendship and to make their lives tonight a lot easier, he decided to let the issue go as well.

"I have no wish to argue with you either, Legolas. But realize that I also cannot simply do what I please right now. If I could I would have gone after those Wargs before you could have given me a warning. But I can't. Not until the Haradrim are out of Linhinenet. I promise you, as soon as the town is secure and the southmen gone we will go after the Wargs. The hobbits will simply have to wait for that feast of theirs."

Legolas laughed as he imagined the looks on Merry and Pippins' faces when they heard that they would have to wait to formally gorge themselves until a trio of Mordor wolves were slain.

"Truly 'twill be a sore blow to them. I only hope they can find it in their hearts to forgive us." Legolas eyes gleamed with joy now that they had reached a truce and could spend the rest of the trip in idle conversation rather than bickering.

Now it was Faramir's turn to laugh, also glad for the returned comradery. "Indeed. We shall have to find some way to make it up to them."

Legolas seemed to contemplate this for a moment and then gave the Steward a mischievous look.

"Shall we give them the beasts' skins for atonement?"

Faramir grinned as wickedly and mischievously as the fair haired being riding next to him. The thought of Merry and Pippins' faces when they were presented with three mostly-intact Warg hides was enough for him to want to go along with Legolas' scheme.

"Definitely," he nodded. "If not for their reaction then for Aragorn's."

Legolas' smile went from being mischievous to devilish, and he cocked his head to the side. "But how to keep Arwen from seeing them? I doubt very much that she will allow such pelts to grace her home. In fact I'm certain she won't."

"So am I," Faramir agreed solemnly before the smug grin returned to his face. "But I think I have a way around that."

Several strides to their left, Beregond sighed almost imperceptively as he tried not to listen to his lord and the elf discuss how they were going to get three Warg pelts into the two hobbits' rooms without detection. At least they weren't fighting anymore. Personally he wasn't sure he wouldn't have gone insane trying to carry out his duties with his commander and the company's night eyes at each other's throats.

Once, on one of the early missions he had been sent on before being assigned to guard the Citadel, Faramir had gotten into an argument with his brother, Boromir. Beregond had ended up playing messenger between the two lords, since neither would talk with the other. It had been a nightmare that lasted for several weeks and he had only been too glad to return to the city and get away from the two.

The thought of repeating the experience again didn't please him in the slightest. So it was with much gratitude to the Valar that he settled into the relative peace that once again stole over the group, though none let their guard down. For all the ease they presented to the world they never stopped keeping the sharpest lookout for Wargs, Haradrim, and any other enemy that could come their way.

Erd was in a very foul mood. He had sent one of the pigeons back to Parth Galen to inform his master of the fine details he'd need to properly set up Faramir's capture. He had then followed the company the entire way so any changes in the plans for the confrontation with the Haradrim would be known to them. Then, when the requested forces arrived, they could make the necessary adjustments. It was all going so well.

'Was' had then become the key word. The spy knew his master would send his soldiers as quickly as possible. Yet he had told them to wait in the forests opposite a clearing that one of his fellow spy's had found about three miles north of Linhinenet. He had told them he did not need anyone to be sent to aid him. They had not listened.

The crow who had been assigned to be his second-in-command had sent him assistance, and it had not been welcome.

He first saw three mangy-looking crows approach and dive into the woods opposite to his side of the road. To keep them from crossing the road, and making the men and elf suspicious, he had been forced to make the crossing himself. To make sure the company did not look into the woods he flew in front of the captain of the White Company, spooking his horse and hopefully drawing attention away from himself. He did not look back to see if it worked. He had been trying to find his unexpected and unwanted companions.

He had gone through the canopy of the immediate area when he saw them below him, stalking the men on the road. This could not be allowed. The company was to reach the farming village without attack so they would be unassuming during the Haradrim battle when their beloved Steward was taken from them. He had to stop them. From what he could hear the horses had already come upon the scent of Warg, and were well on their way to panic. At least the men would be too hard pressed in their endeavor not to be thrown to attack them, unlike elves, who–

The sparrow would have frozen if it would not have caused him to fall. He could feel his icy stomach plummet sickeningly. _Oh Manwe.... the elf!_

Erd whirled around as fast as he could, looking through a break in the leaves to see the elf aim his arrow at one of the foul wolves, probably the one closest to the road. The small bird twisted around again, and pumped his wings as hard as he could. He had about a hundredth of a second at most to stop a tragedy from occurring. A tragedy for him anyways.

Snapping his wings in close to his sides he plummeted downwards, gravity lending him speed. It was a hunting tactic that was mostly responsible for the fame and popularity enjoyed by the peregrine falcons. Slight adjustments to the position of his wings allowed him to angle the dive so the Warg would see him in its peripheral vision and reflexively move its head– the only clear target it presented the immortal archer that was even now trying to end its life.

He didn't have anywhere near the room to build up the amount of speed he would have liked. Even so he hoped it would be enough that he would be able to get himself out of the path of the steel-tipped missile that he was currently trying to out-fly.

Hoped. Not knew. Hoped. Unlike the falcons his experience in this kind of attack was limited. Sparrows were not exactly designed for stooping as the Falconiformes were. They could mimic it, but they would never be able to use such a maneuver half as effectively as the raptors did.

To ensure he gained the maximum speed he could with what little space he had to work with, he kept his eyes on his goal and resisted the powerful desire to see where the arrow was. He neared his companion, heard the whistle-like shriek of the arrow as the tremendous poundage of the elf's bow hurled it like a lightning bolt from a thundercloud.

At the very last second he swung his weight to the side, avoiding striking the Warg head-on. As he passed he saw to his great relief and satisfaction that the canine's head did move. Yet to be sure it moved enough and in part to take out some of his anger at it he slashed at it. The claw on the backwards facing toe of his left foot caught in the beast's flesh, right above its eye. Hooking it in and not slowing anymore than he had to he let it rake across the Warg's face, slicing open a nice grove over its eye.

The creature snarled and jerked its head further towards the ground. Ripping his claw free, Erd snapped open his wings and fanned his feathers as far as they could go, arching his back and spreading his tail to create as much drag as he could. With effort he managed to level off his flight and break out of the dive so he could wing back up above the massive jaws of his compatriots.

He learned long ago never to put it past a Warg to snap at someone, even its rider. Few people had earned exemption from this rule. The Ringwraiths were among those. So was Sauron, defeated thought they all were. In the past he had not considered his master as one of these select few. However as time had passed and the human had unlocked and mastered more and more dark spells and grown in cruelty that had changed.

Now the Wargs were so terrified of their leader those off duty often slunk away from his mere presence simply out of a desire to keep from angering him and being used as test subjects for new and untried spells. Or simply as target practice for learned ones. Those on duty could only perform at maximum efficiency and pray to Morgoth that they would not be seen shivering in fear.

Erd, on the other hand, was not amongst these. True, he served a master of the dark arts, but that was only for his own purposes. The original Dark Lord himself would never hold the sparrow's allegiance. This he hid well, for if such information were to leak out his master would simply skin him alive as a possible traitor with no warning and no questions asked. No amount of pleading would do him any good either. Yet he could not escape the fact that it meant that he would never be able to work with the Wargs and not expect several attempts on his life.

Once he was out of the lethal jaw's range he started screaming in his native language. Normally he would have promptly given the three as brutal a dressing-down as he was able. With the men and elf still around he could in no way speak in their tongues. Not unless he himself wanted to be the master's latest victim. Nevertheless he managed to get the message across.

All three Wargs had stopped glaring at him as they had done since he had arrived and slunk away through the trees, back the way they had come. He had followed them to ensure they actually followed orders this time, since he knew for sure they would not do so of their own accord. Before leaving, however he had sent a glare in the direction of the elf, who had been gazing at him in disbelief. Now he finally found out the reason they had come looking for him in the first place, and it was not one he had expected.

His master had come with his forces.

Erd had sighted the man the moment he had entered the clearing he had wanted them to wait for him in. The Wargs and he could travel much faster and with less inhibitions than the Steward's company could. It was thus that in only a couple hour's time they found themselves at their own destination long before their prey would reach his.

Erd's initial reaction was one of fear. Had he done something wrong? Was he going to die now? No. He couldn't have. He had followed the man's directions to the letter. Therefore there had to be another reason for his appearance here. But what?

The skeletal-faced man seemed to anticipate his reaction, for he answered the small avian's query before he could ask it. Even as the bird landed and executed a perfect bow in front of him. His smooth and seductive tenor rang out against the soft, cold breeze that seemed to blow whenever he was near.

"I have decided to come early. I trust things are going well?"

"Things are going very well, my lord." Erd truly was grateful in a way. Now he could be sure they would not miss their opportunity when it came. At the same time however the pressure he was under to succeed had now increased a thousandfold. With his master around the room for mistakes was far less, and he rather fancied having his flesh intact. Now only one question remained that he would dare ask the man.

"Sire, should I not return now to learn of the Steward's final plans for tonight? Without that knowledge the abduction will be far more difficult and the margin for failure all the greater." He made sure his voice was humble and completely inferior-sounding, and he kept his eyes on the ground. Only when he succeeded in a mission did he ever find he had the courage to look his master in the eye.

"Yes, pathetic bird. You should. I only sent for you so you'd know I was here," the skeletal-faced man sneered.

"Very well. I shall return for the others when they are needed." Truly the sparrow hated being addressed in such a manner, yet he could not talk back without being destroyed in one of the most horrible ways imaginable. Neither for that matter could he leave without his master's permission, for the result of such an action would yield the same for him.

So all he could do was simply bow and take off into the air. As he flew back to where he had last left Faramir's company he wondered again why he worked for such a horrible person. _Foolish bird, you know why. Focus on your task._

He seemed to be asking himself that a lot lately, something he shouldn't do if he wanted to live. Yet as all people do at least once in their lives he couldn't help but wonder what might have been if things hadn't turned out as they had. Not that he could go back in time, but still this was not exactly what he'd had in mind when he'd joined his master's ranks.

Fifteen minutes of swift flight along the road later he found the company and resumed his work, settling into the routine he had developed and listening to the Steward and the elf plan an interesting joke involving leaving three Warg skins in two of the hobbit's rooms and how they were to smuggle the pelts in without anyone's notice. If he weren't part of an equally elaborate scheme to capture the Steward he might have taken a trip over to the White City to observe such undertakings. They certainly sounded amusing. Too bad the two would never get to put their joke into action if his master's endeavor worked.

Instead of traveling the last ten miles to the crossing where the River Erui met the South Road, the company turned aside and entered the woods, travelling in a more westerly direction. Here the going was much slower, fir most people traveling to Linhinenet continued on to the crossing and then followed the river upstream to the village. Very few people took the route the company took now, and the road had deteriorated to little more than a vague trail.

Still it was traversable, so long as they traveled single file. Faramir dared not ride along the river, for it would alert the Haradrim to their presence and could leave them open to attack. The dilapidated trail was treacherous in some places. Sudden drop offs and loose sand forced them to dismount and lead the horses on foot much of the time. Low branches, thick patches of thorn bush, and hidden holes in the ground forced a slow pace and a sharp eye.

Warnings were called down the column as new hazards were discovered. Because of the forced pace it took the company a good three hours to go the last twelve or so miles. The weapons, tents, and other baggage the men carried with them did nothing to help matters.

Legolas, traveling with Faramir and Beregond at the front, became something of an advanced warning system for the rest. He would scout and test out the trail ahead of everyone else, inform them of all they needed to know about the path and what was the safest route to take, then move on as they negotiated it behind him. A few times the trail proved to be completely unnegotiable for the horses and at that point he would have had to search for another way. Every time he would then have to get them back on the former road.

In the end they managed to emerge from the path with only minor mishaps– dropped packs, a slip or fall onto ones hands and knees here and there. Upon emerging from the forest, they came into an area that consisted of a ten mile long, five mile wide strip of open fields alongside the river. The village was nestled amongst the crop fields three mile upstream from where they left the forest. Most of the open space was used for crops by the farmers, who left the town early to tend the fields by day and returned to the village at night. The community was designed to provide anything its people would need since it was a secluded area and the nearest town was about twenty miles away, through wild brush and twisting deer trails.

Beyond the strip of open land there was nothing but forest with the exception of the road built alongside the Erui. Across the Erui to the southwest was a thirty mile expanse of grassland. This was used by the villagers to graze their sheep and horses. The animals had been moved to the north shore of the river due to the arrival of the Haradrim.

About two hundred and fifty southmen were camped a mile from the banks opposite the town. A mile east of the town were camped the forces of Gondor. Soldiers in the camp saw the awaited reinforcements arrive almost the same time the sentries did. Three from the camp were sent to ride out and meet the newcomers.

One of them, a Lieutenant by the badge he wore, took the lead in welcoming the Steward and his captain. "Hail, Faramir, and his captain! The aid you bring us has been eagerly anticipated. I trust your journey was without much difficulty?" He saluted the Steward as he called out his greeting.

Faramir returned the salute, bringing his gelding to a halt in the process directly in front of the lieutenant's horse. "A neglected trail and a trio of Wargs were our only challenges we faced, and they did not impede us overmuch. Tell me what the latest news is of those that camp in opposition to us across the river, or what news information of them you know. Then take me to your captain so I may speak with him regarding our course of action."

"First, if I may sir inquire if any were injured by the wolves of Sauron. 'Tis distressing news that they once again have ventured into our lands, though naught have I heard of them until now." As any intelligent person would be, the young man was disturbed by the thought of Wargs in Gondor once again. Indeed to all of them it seemed that every time they removed all of the foul wolves from their land they would simply wait a while and then come back as if to spite them.

"None were injured and I thank you for your concern. There were only three of them. I'm afraid though that this topic will have to wait until the human threat to our people is eliminated. I'll ask again, what of the Haradrim?" Faramir could tell that evening was approaching. The time for discussion and strategizing was short. Learning what he could of the situation while traversing the mile of fields that lay between them and the camp would make the council go much faster.

From what information I have been given the enemy is stationary." As he spoke the young man turned his horse around and began to lead them towards the camp. He gave Faramir all the information he had, though it was for the most part basic. "They camp as they have for the past two weeks. No new forces have come, nor have any left. Their guards change in two hour cycles, and they have scouted the area on that side of the river. They don't come across it and they don't ever try to make contact. They act as if we aren't even here. Our captains have adopted the same policy until you arrived."

The soldier, who couldn't have been more than twenty-three, clearly didn't know what to do in such a situation and by the look on his face was now expecting his commanders to fix it; and he wouldn't be the only one. Faramir remembered all too well feeling that way fighting Sauron's forces years ago when he had first been promoted to lieutenant by his commander.

"It matters not whether they choose to ignore us or not. They are _not _welcome here and we will not ignore them. One way or another they will leave." Faramir only hoped he could meet the expectations placed on him. At the very least he would try.

His determined face and soft words were taken to heart by the lieutenant and his companions, encouraging them, giving them hope, as they were meant to do. As they spoke the camp drew closer until they found themselves trotting into it, past grateful-looking soldiers sitting outside their tents and looking as if they were ready and willing should their commanders only give the word.

The steward drew his horse to a stop and looked around as if searching for something or someone. His gaze settled on a tall man with dark hair and a narrow face sitting in a loose circle eating a late lunch, as they had just come back from scouting. Emmar was his name, and he had served under Faramir for seven years. The Steward had dispatched him with some of his other troops to lend their aid at the border, and subsequently he had ended up camped with the rest outside of Linhinenet.

"Emmar!"

Emmar looked up from his meal, and quickly put it down and stood when he saw who addressed him, a relieved and joyful expression on his face at the sight of his lord and the reinforcements he brought. "See to it that these men are given a place to pitch their tents and picket their horses, and get some people together to help them," Faramir motioned to the two hundred men sitting quietly on their horses behind him.

"Yes, sir. Right away."

Faramir noticed he sounded a bit disappointed as he saluted sharply and then walked off, calling several people to him. He was wondering what had caused the scout to behave that way when he spied the almost full plat of food the man had left behind. _No wonder. Emmar always did hate it when people interrupted his meal. Especially since he's always the last to eat._

He cupped a hand to his mouth and called out, "Emmar!"

The dark haired scout turned back to his superior. "Yes, my lord?"

Faramir smiled and shouted back at him, "Find some men to help them and then go back to your meal!"

Emmar grinned, reminded that his commander liked to get to know his troops as well as he could so he could work better with them. It was something he was right now grateful for. He had barely eaten all day and even now was beginning to feel nauseous from his stomach's complaining. "With pleasure my lord."

Faramir nodded, then turned to Beregond and Legolas. The two had been about to ride off with the rest, who were now dismounted and following the Emmar and the men who had come to help him. "Wait." He continued when both turned and focused their attention on him. "Beregond, I'll need you to sit in on this meeting so you can aid me in stationing the men, and Legolas we have to tell the person in charge that you're here and then we'll need you to go scout the Haradrim for us. When you get back we'll need you to help us come up with a course of action."

The elf and captain nodded and moved closer to Faramir. All three dismounted and handed the horses off to three soldiers who had come up to take them and care for them while their riders saw to their own responsibilities.

The three were led to the tent of the commander in charge of the camp. Mennel was his name, and he had fought on the southern borders with the Haradrim for twenty years before being called to Minas Tirith to help defend the city against Sauron's forces. After the war he had stayed in the city for awhile, resting, visiting with friends and family he had not seen in many years. But many of his comrades still fought in the south, and he found that peace meant little to him while people he had fought alongside for so long still remained in danger. Thus it was that he had decided to return to the border and take up again his position there, though his family had been sorrowed to hear it.

They had understood in the end, and he had promised to return more often if he was able. Now, however, he was like many others stuck in this remote area, in a standoff with the very people he had set off to fight, though not anywhere near the location were he was supposed to fight them. It had shocked and dismayed him to find that their enemies had managed to get this many of their number so far into Gondor's territory, but their behavior worried him more than anything else. If he thought about it carefully enough, the southmen behaved almost as decoys.

All they did was set up camp and stay there. They knew that Gondor wouldn't ignore so many of her enemies so far inside her borders. It was as if they merely wanted to keep the last remnant of Numinor focused on them so it would fail to notice something else. That disturbed Mennel the most, and he determined when first he noticed it that he would bring it to his superior's attention when he arrived. He sat in his tent pondering what could be done about it when footsteps sounded outside and the tent flap was pulled aside.

The young lieutenant who stuck his head in looked too happy for one who had been told that his commander was not to be disturbed unless Faramir arrived with the reinforcements. _Does that mean they are here? _He hoped so, but instead of asking that out loud he simply asked another question. One he thought sounded more authoritative. "What is it Faron?"

Though he supplemented the question with a look that said he was not in the least bit thrilled to be disturbed, the young man didn't seem troubled by it at all. "Faramir and his reinforcements have arrived. He wishes to meet with you to plan a course of action regarding the Haradrim. Shall I let him in or tell him you do not wish to see him now?"

Fifteen years ago Mennel might have given a snort and a sharp tongued retort to such a foolish question, but he was now too old and too mature for that. Still it was tempting. Except for the minor detail that there had been more than one person walking up to his tent. He had distinctly heard three, which meant that Faramir himself and most likely the captain of his personal guard were standing outside as well and would hear it if he made a sarcastic retort.

Not in the least bit interested in humiliating himself in front of his captain and others, he bit back the sarcasm that had been building on the tip of his tongue and answered with words and a tone of voice more fitting to his station. "Yes, Faron, you may let him in, and whoever is out there with him. Then you may go back to your duties and make sure no one bothers us unless the Haradrim finally do something."

Faron nodded and ducked his head back outside. Mennel heard him tell Faramir and his companion they could enter and Faramir thanking him. Then he heard footsteps moving away from the tent as the canvas doorway was once again lifted open.

Mennel stood and made as if to salute when he stopped short. Faramir and his captain he expected, but not the third person who entered his tent. He had not even heard him approach, and he was considered to have very good hearing amongst his men. On a second look he realized that he was not even looking at a human. The person's face was far too light skinned and fair, his hair glimmered like a pale river of gold, his eyes almost glowed in the dim light, and he couldn't tell if they were grey or blue. Or maybe they were both. What really set him apart from the two men he stood next to were his ears. Instead of rounded as a human's were, they ended in a graceful point, making them look more leaf-shaped.

Mennel had seen elves before, but never quite this close up. He was awed for the being in front of him emitted a soft light of his own, making him look like something out of a legend. But that was only part of it. What intrigued him the most was the ageless look of the elf. If he were human Mennel would pin him at being no older than twenty-three. He knew, however, from the legends he had heard, that elves were unable to die from old age or illness, and that they typically lived to be thousands of years old. The prospect alone that the being in front of him may have fought against Sauron's forces with the Last Alliance and the legendary figures associated with it increased his awe even more.

He managed somehow to complete his salute, though his gaze flicked over to the elf far more often than he liked. "My lord, welcome. Perhaps now we can finally send these desert renegades limping back to were they should be."

Faramir came forward to shake the man's hand. "Not perhaps, commander, we will send them limping home from whence they came. From the reaction my men and I have gotten so far I assume the tension has grown considerably since help was sent for."

"Yes it has," Mennel nodded. "The situation has become like a staring contest that will not end, and some are becoming quite frustrated by it. Myself included I must honestly say."

"I don't blame you. But the time of frustration is over, now that we are here. But before we decide what to do with our unwanted guests you must tell us everything– down to the last detail– that they have done so far. All we have heard is that their numbers remain the same, they change their guards every two hours, they scout the south side of the river, they don't try to make contact and generally ignore that we even exist." If Gondor was going to get out of this quickly and smoothly its commanders would need far more detailed information than that, and the less Legolas had to figure out for them, the quicker they could begin to strategize against their southern enemies.

Mellel raised his eyebrows and shrugged in a hopeless manner. "As of now that's all we really do know. There's only one thing that I can add to it, something I've kept from the men because I can't prove it and because I don't need any more wild rumors flying around than there are already. This morning I overheard one of the younger soldiers saying that the Haradrim were here to take over peoples minds with dark powers they got from serving Sauron."

Faramir resisted the urge to role his eyes. Crazy rumors always circulated whenever there was a significant period of little or no activity in military camps. Though it did give the warriors something to do to alleviate their boredom, ninety percent of the time the rumors had little to no solid fact in them. As far as he and the other commanders knew, Sauron had only promised the Haradrim Gondor and supplies to aid them in their campaign, nothing else. No evidence to show they had received anything other than weapons and basic supplies had ever come to light. "What is it that you noticed, Mennel?" he asked.

Mennel looked at Beregond and Legolas as if undecided as to whether he should ask Faramir to order them to leave. For the sake of keeping it from the men he thought perhapse he should only share it with Faramir. What the elf and guard would do with it he knew not, and this made him reluctant to share it with them around.

Faramir took note of his hesitation and how his reluctance to share the information seemed to be caused by the fact that the Steward wasn't the only one receiving his carefully guarded knowledge. To avoid this causing future delays he decided that now was a good time to explain his captain's and Legolas' presence there. "You may say anything in front of my companions. I asked Beregond to come to this council so he may as my second in command better help the two of us to employ our forces more effectively. The elf is Legolas, who is one of the Fellowship of the Ring. King Elessar asked him to come with us to aid in trying to uncover the southmens' reason for not attacking thus far and determining the best way to remove them. He will be present at most if not all of our councils so he will now exactly what is taking place and will best be able to help us."

Mennel had heard that elves had greater senses than humans but nothing more than that. Thus he was unconvinced that this elf could learn more about the enemy than his own men had been able to. "And just how is he to help us? There is no cover near the Haradrim camp and their guards are too observant, he would never get past them. They would shoot him down the moment he came within their range. Even if he did get into their camp you would not be able to find out much since amongst their own kin they will not use the common tongue, if they even know it at all. How could he find out from this side of the river more than my scouts have? Unless he knows the enemy's tongue and you plan to send him on such a suicide mission anyways."

All three bristled at the commander's words. Mennel was border lining on insulting his king's judgement in sending Legolas to help them, and Faramir would not tolerate that from anyone except perhaps a select few. Legolas felt his ire raise a few notches at being spoken around like he was some inanimate object. Beregond as well was angered that the commander would treat one of the legendary Nine Walkers thus.

Mennel noticed their faces all bore a darker expression than they had a few moments ago, and started to think that perhaps he had spoken a bit too rashly. Legolas was about to step forward and set the man straight when Faramir put his arm in front of the elf to keep him back so he wouldn't go eyeball to eyeball with the commander and scare him half to death. Considering the human had never had dealings with one of the eldar this was well within the elven prince's ability. And not something they needed right now. Fixing his own highly unamused glare on Mennel he gave him his own censoring. "Elessar would not have sent him if he could not contribute more information than your own scouts have already and you would do well to watch your tongue lest you insult the king in my presence."

His voice was a low growl and its intensity combined with the anger on Faramir's face was alone enough to make Mennel realize his mistake and started to stammer an apology. Faramir waved his hand to cut him off. "Forget saying you're sorry, just see to it that it doesn't happen again. Now tell us what it is you haven't told the men.

Upon hearing Mennel's suspicions regarding the southmens' behavior, they all found themselves wearing grim expressions. Additional threats from the Haradrim inside Gondor was a thought no one welcomed. For now, though, all they could do was eliminate this decoy, if that's what it really was, and try to find out as much about their enemy's reason for undertaking this venture as they could in the process.

In the end they all decided that the only thing they could do for now was to brief Legolas on everything the scouts knew about the area and the enemy's own scouting activity and send him off to try and gather as much additional information on the Haradrim as they could while Faramir and his men settled and the rest merely went about their business as they had for the previous fortnight. When the woodland prince returned, the final plans would be laid, and the Haradrim engaged one way or another.

TBC....

**Sorry to end this abruptly but I'm on a time limit. I have to leave to go camping shortly and I'm not even fully packed! Panic attack major! Anyway I wasn't originally going to end this chapter when I did but once again RL decided to intervene. At least it will make the next chapter even longer. I will hopefully have that one out around the twenty-fifth or sixth. Due to a stressed and less-than-amused mother I will also not be able to get in review responses this time around but will put them in the next chapter. I'm going to sign off now with a huge thank you to everyone who reviewed. Without you this would not be out until the twenty-fifth or sixth. Reviews make me post sooner and keep the creativity juices at maximum so..... (gives irresistible Puss in Boots eyes) please review! **


	4. There and Back Again

**A/N: Okay, okay, I know. I'm so late you've probably forgotten I even exist. (_Readers give her weird look, wondering who the hell she is.)_ Not that I can blame you, I am kinda past when I said I'd update. (_Readers suddenly remember her and start glaring threateningly, while brandishing all manner of nasty-looking weapons.)_ Well you can blame it on writer's block, homework (teachers just don't know when enough is enough), and the curse of RL. Fortunately I did keep my promise when I said I would have reviewer responses from the last chapter, and this chapter is pretty long and includes icy rivers, Legolas parading as a Southron, irate scorpions, Haradrim who think burning clothing is in fashion, and a spy mission that would make James Bond want to start hanging out with the elves _(GRIN) S_o,_ (starts backing towards light switch)_, please turn the energy built for your plots of revenge against me for making you wait so long towards reading and enjoy. _"Lights! Please."_**

**AAN:For disclaimers and other associated info, please refer back to the prologue. Do I look like Tolkien? Didn't think so. Therefore, The Lord of the Rings and the name 'There and Back Again' are not mine. **

**Oh, and another note which I maybe should have mentioned earlier—I don't write Slash so don't expect to see it in this or any of my future stories. Sorry for those of you who happen to like that sort of genre, but I simply can't bring myself to see let alone write anyone from LOTR as actually being homosexual. I don't have anything against people liking those types of stories; I just don't have a preference for them. I have read a few in the past and have simply found that I get far more enjoyment out of stories where the word love means a closer than close friendship-I consider you a family member-you're more like a sibling than simply a great friend-type thing. So, in short, that's what my stories will be about. No m/m romance and such, just people whose friendship has developed to the point where it's more of a brotherhood than anything else. That having now been said I'm going to shut up and let you move on to reading the chapter. Who just muttered "it's about time" behind my back? Impatient people. _(ducks barrage of stones and spare arrowheads)_**

**Chapter 3: There and Back Again **

One jump ahead of the slowpokes   
One skip ahead of my doom   
Next time gonna use a nom de plume   
One jump ahead of the hitmen   
One hit ahead of the flock   
I think I'll take a stroll around the block

Brad Kane, "One Jump Ahead" Aladdin Soundtrack

The tent flap was lifted open and several dark-skinned men exited. A few talked amongst themselves as they walked away, others went off alone. By their garb they seemed to be officers. In moments only two remained. The manner in which they interacted suggested that they were probably the highest ranking in the camp; a commander and his second. The one seemingly in overall command exchanged a few words with the other, and the man strode off purposefully, perhaps carrying out some order.

The commander turned and called out to three younger-looking soldiers standing nearby. They walked over to him, and he began speaking to them, while they nodded from time to time. When he was finished they rapped their right fists against their chests, as if saluting him, and proceeded to take up positions around the tent. Two stood in front of the entrance, hands on weapons, while the other began pacing around the tent in a circle. The commander nodded, apparently satisfied. Unbeknownst to them, their every movement was being watched with great interest by the cloaked and hooded being crouched in the shadows between two nearby tents.

At the end of his interview with Mennel, Legolas had left Faramir and Beregond to seek out the sentries and learn from them everything they had observed about the Haradrim. After talking with them for a short while he began to realize that the only successful way to get into the camp would be as one of the southmen.

When asked, the sentries gave their aid willingly, and together they had come up with something of a plan. He had then left them to prepare for their part in the operation while he sought out Faramir to tell him of his plans. Well, some of them. The rest he had kept to himself, for Faramir would probably never have agreed to them, and would have insisted that someone go with him, which he couldn't have.

The plan was a bit sketchy in places, in need of details of which he would fill in as he went. But even as a sketchy outline he knew it would find little approval. In fact he could just about count on his fingers people he knew who would readily agree to such a thing. There weren't many. No human could pull it off, that much he knew, which confirmed that he had to go alone.

The elf prince wasn't the kind to lie; in fact he made a point to avoid such a thing if at all possible, a habit which he had employed, along with the famed elven ability to speak in riddles when speaking with Faramir. By leaving out much and sticking to a watered-down version of the details he did share, he was able to leave with a lot less arguing and I-think-this-is-crazy-please-don't-get-yourself-killed speeches than he had expected. With that out of the way he had gone to prepare himself and meet up again with the sentries to be sure all was prepared to get him behind enemy lines.

Getting out of the Gondorian camp unseen had been the first obstacle, and, like the rest of his mission, required much tedious, careful work. Work that required tremendous patience, complete and perfect control over ones body and movements, keen senses, and the ability to achieve and maintain a silence that could have rivaled the dead. Which he would likely become if he was seen, or worse, caught.

Wrapping himself in the elven cloak given to him by Galadriel, he kept low as he moved quickly across the fields towards the town. Once there he kept to the shadows. Out of concern for an attack by the Haradrim on the town, a curfew was being put into effect. All townspeople were to be in their homes no later than an hour after sundown. The only ones on the streets were the soldiers assigned to guard it. He avoided them without too much trouble. No need to send up an alarm and attract attention to himself. He continued on past the town a bit before turning towards the river.

In the late March the weather was only a bit cool by human standards, warm enough that a light cloak was only needed at night. The river, however, was another matter. Melting ice and snow from the mountains kept it almost as chilled as it had been in January, and the swelled waters moved fast and fierce.

Legolas checked the waterproof quiver and bow case lent to him by the sentry who had informed him that his best and only way of getting across the river was by swimming. Another had lent him a waterproof pack and sheaths for his knives. Once he was sure they were secure, he plunged in swiftly, not giving himself time to second-guess anything. Now was not the time for doubt, he only had a small window in which he was to get across and into place for the sentries to carry out their part of the plan. This he had been adamant about. They couldn't risk more than one southerner becoming suspicious; therefore he would give them no signal when he was in place. The sentries were to wait the allotted time he had given them, and then proceed. It was his job to be ready for them.

A committee of voices inside his head had been berating him since he had approached the riverbanks, telling him how foolish this was, and how he'd be hung by his own bowstring when his friends found out about this. Faramir would at the least when the elven prince returned soaking wet and wearing enemy garb. At least a hundred things could go wrong, and his success would be vital. Aragorn had said that it was believed the Haradrim would attack tonight. Aside from attempting to discover the reason for the southerners' journey this far into Gondor, Legolas was also to seek an indication of when they did plan to fight. By now they had to know, if on the odd chance they didn't before, that a fight was their only way out of their current position. It was imperative that he return at least partially successful, and preferably in one piece.

All of this became irrelevant as it was drowned out by the silent scream of pain that ripped through his whole being as the icy water swirled up around him, trying to stop his heart with its abrupt intensity. His skin felt as if it were being lanced and burned at the same time. He tried to keep his head his head mostly dry at least, but was forced to abandon this idea when a particularly strong undertow pulled him under for half a second. Elvish clothing may be lighter than the fabrics used by the other races, but it still gets heavier when wet. His quiver and added bow case were of no help either, and combined both clothing and weapons threatened to aid the current tugging at them to drag him down to the bottom and keep him there. Fighting determinedly, the elf worked his way back up to the surface.

Legolas came up gasping, trying to breathe and cough water out of his mouth and throat at the same time. He tried to shake the water out of his eyes. A few more moments and he'd reach the spot he was supposed to come ashore at; he'd have to be on that side of the river and ready. Sinuses in torment, chest and ribs aching from the cold, skin giving him the distinct impression it was now made of ice, he moved forward on a diagonal, making sure he didn't waste time and energy by fighting the current, but used it instead.

He was now within a few feet of the south banks, keen eyes seeking in the pitch black and foaming waters the spot he had been advised to come ashore at. He couldn't have missed it, could he? No, he mustn't think like that. It had to be coming up soon. Frantically he turned his head from side to side. If he stayed in the river too long it would take him almost right past one of the Haradrim guard posts. That he couldn't let happen. _'Where is it?'_

Just as he was about to climb out and take his chances finding his way on the shore, a large outcropping materialized swiftly out of the darkness. _'That's it!'_ came his exuberant mental shout. Power stroking towards it, he reached out and managed to snag a handhold just before the river carried him past it. The water tugged at him, trying to pry him free, but he secured his hold with both hands and pulled himself up onto the partially dry rock.

Once he had something solid under him Legolas froze, crouched, scanning his surroundings slowly. Not seeing anyone in the immediate vicinity, he rose up a bit more. These rocks were the best cover along this part of the Erui, the last true cover he would have until he entered the camp and could hide amongst the tents. The area was covered in sparse patches of grass and rock.

Normally these would not offer much in the way of cover, certainly not if someone wanted to hide from others, but with the storm clouds blocking the moonlight the Haradrim sentries were taking full advantage of them. What the landscape couldn't cover the darkness would, hiding them from intruding men until they were within a few feet of the guards.

_'At which point the southerners will simply surprise and capture them, or put a knife in their throats. Fortunately they have no idea that their campfires give me all the light I need to see them, or that they couldn't spot me now even if they looked right at me.' _

Couldn't spot him unless of course he moved suddenly or made noise by being careless. But Legolas hadn't come though centuries of hunting the foul beings that had tried vainly to take over his father's realm without mastering the arts of ambush and attacking in pitch darkness. Once he determined where the soldiers closest at hand were, he slowly and carefully slid off of his perch. Ducking behind the rocks, he opened the waterproof pack. Reaching inside, he grabbed a hold of a familiar and much-loved garment. Pulling the elvish cloak free of the pack, he set it about his damp shoulders and pulled the hood up over his wet hair. The Haradrim were soon to meet someone who could play their game just as cunningly as they did.

As the warm fabric enveloped him, Legolas breathed a sigh of relief and appreciation. Elves are not prone to feelings of temperature as humans are. Normally the prince wouldn't have given the pre-spring air a second thought, but normally he didn't take swims in icy rivers at this time of year either. Elves were not immune to freezing to death given the right circumstances, and though he wasn't anywhere near freezing to death right now, Legolas' wet garments were definitely making him uncomfortable in the cool wind that was ghosting around. The cloak was a great shield from that, as well as from prying eyes. Made by Galadriel and her aids, the light fabric took on the color of its wearer's surroundings, concealing them from view. Legolas could literally slip right up to the camp without being seen, but should someone catch him by accident, he was an obvious intruder.

Once both cloak and hood were in place he pushed his pack behind him, placing it where it wouldn't get in his way. From the bow case he brought forth one of his white knives. Silver bladed, hafted with whitest ivory, and fitted to his hands by the wear of centuries, it was part of the ensemble of weapons he carried with him everywhere he went. With it went his bow, quiver, and other white knife, the identical twin of the first.

Drawing the cloak close, he crouched low on one knee into an ideal position, and waited.

As an immortal, time meant very little to the elven prince. He could have spent all night and day crouched as he was if he had to. But here time was of the essence. The Haradrim sentries guarded the camps in two-hour shifts that rotated throughout the night. From what he had been told this shift should be ending soon. The elf began to get impatient. For this to work he and the sentries had to spring their trap and clean up its results before the southern guards changed shifts. Otherwise there would be questions asked, and Legolas didn't know how he could explain to his enemies his reason for being late when he couldn't speak their native tongue.

Another ten minutes, and Legolas was just about ready to hunt down one of the Haradrim on his own. Time was far too short for him to keep waiting for a few humans when he could do without them, though with them the risk of discovery was less. A high-pitched whistle, too high for human ears to detect, rent the air as the prince was just rising from his hiding place. On instinct he ducked back down. A bark and an irritated shout followed the whistle. Both were very close to his rock shelter.

Pulling a white knife from its sheath he had only a second to prepare himself as the trap was sprung and the second part of his plan was put into motion.

A long, black shadow materialized, bounding towards him. Following none too slowly behind it was another figure, this one waving a scimitar and swearing heavily in the southern tongue. Legolas remained where he was, waiting for his quarry to come to him.

The dog raced passed him into the outcropping, stopping a few yards behind him and panting heavily. The Haradrim stopped running, and began walking cautiously closer to where he had thought the canine had hidden itself. This far from the camp the fires his comrades had lit did him little good and the storm clouds overhead deprived him of the aid that the moonlight might have given him. In these conditions he was as good as blind.

Legolas waited, unmoving and hardly breathing so he wouldn't give himself away by sound. His prey moved closer. Ten feet, then eight, then five… When the soldier was merely three feet away from him, the elf made his move. In one fluid, lightning fast motion, Legolas was on his feet and plunging his knife deep into the southerner's throat, holding his cloak around the wound so there would be no blood on the man's clothing. The sentry never had a chance to scream or make any form of sound. All he knew was the sensation of having cold; unforgiving elvish steel lodged in his throat and blood in his lungs, then a deeper darkness than the night engulfed him as his spirit fled to the Mandos' Halls.

Legolas caught the lifeless body as it ceased to support itself and began to crash to the ground. He laid the body down gently and removed his knife, wiping it clean with a rag he retrieved from his pack. As he began to strip the corpse, he grimaced in disgust. He hated killing. The only time he had ever taken any pleasure in death was when he defended his home or his people against the spiders and other foul creatures that for centuries had threatened them. Their deaths, the spiders in particular, he would not lament or regret. But to have to take the life of a human for so petty a reason as a border dispute… He shook his head. It was so senseless.

The scrape of blunted claws against his arm caused him to whirl around. Behind him sat the sheepdog that had led the soldier to him. It whined and nudged his hand. He held the requested hand out, and the dog placed in it a small leather pouch it had been carrying in its mouth. _'What's this?'_ he wondered.

Upon closer examination it proved to be holding a good-sized handful of small, smooth stones. Legolas remembered hearing from Aragorn once that gold, silver and other metals were considerably rare in the deserts. As a result the Southrons' monetary system consisted of precious or semi-precious stones, shells, and animals. Haradrim men also kept their personal wealth on their person at all times.

He smiled and gave the dog an affectionate scratch behind the ears. "Clever boy, no wonder he was so mad at you. You must have must have taken a lot of money from him."

The canine hung his tongue out of his mouth with pleasure and leaned into Legolas' hand as the elf's fingers rubbed against an especially itchy spot. "Thank you my friend," the prince grinned wider with amusement. He had to give the Gondorian sentries credit. Sending a sheepdog to bring the soldier to him was very cunning, and definitely not something the southerners would have suspected.

Once more the "silent" whistle pierced the silence of the night, causing both elf and dog to look up. This time the whistle sounded out several long and short blasts, apparently some sort of command. The dog got up, trotted over to the river's edge and jumped into the freezing water, swimming diagonally to the northern shore. Apparently that had been its signal to go home. Legolas watched it for a moment, then turned back to the task at hand. Once the body was stripped down to its smallclothes he hefted it up into his arms and carried it to the water, where he let the current take it. Hopefully the speed of the water would prevent it from being washed ashore too soon, if at all.

The elf then stripped himself of his own wet garb, and donned the southman's. Because he was of slighter build than the more muscle-bound person it had belonged to, they were somewhat baggy, but he hoped it wouldn't be too obvious considering that the desert garments were made to be that way to accommodate for the extreme heat of the region. Legolas bound his long wet hair up with a clasp to ensure it would stay put before wrapping his head with the dark material the southman had worn. Taking a piece of charcoal from his pack he crumbled it into a powder, and then rubbed it on the skin around his eyes, the only visible part of his face. Southrons were known to have dark skin, far darker than an elf's, and the charcoal dust if used right would help him to achieve that effect.

With his own clothing stowed in his pack and his own weapons hidden amongst his newly acquired weaponry he set off towards the post that now stood devoid of any guard since its assigned sentry had run off. Before he could settle down, however, a hand closed on his shoulder. He turned, hand placed on the hilt of the scimitar he had retrieved from where the sentry had dropped it. The soldier behind him placed his other hand over the elf's, staying it as he shook his head and muttered something in his native tongue. When the elf relaxed he walked towards the unoccupied guard post, calling something over his shoulder. Legolas didn't stop to wonder what had just happened, he just turned and walked towards the tents. He was a bit surprised that he had not been reprimanded or dragged off to face one of the commanders. The Southrons were a fierce people and sentries found away from their posts were not dealt with lightly. Apparently the man who had just relieved him was a friend of the man he had killed and mistook him for him. That would be a welcome thing, so long as he could avoid any others who might seem like the soldier's friends—or rivals even.

Once in the camp he didn't go sit by the fires as most of the other incoming sentries did. Instead he walked through the tents. Once he was sure no one was watching, he ducked into the shadows of two tents and pulled his cloak from his pack. Fastening it loosely around his shoulders he pulled the hood over his head. Sneaking about the camp would be more difficult than simply walking around, but Legolas didn't want to take the chance that someone would question him or try to start a conversation he couldn't take part in. Most Southron's know the common tongue from their dealings with the Easterlings and other northern folk, but amongst themselves they spoke in their own dialects.

Then next half hour of searching proved fruitless. Legolas didn't even know what he was supposed to find specifically. Faramir had simply told him to find any clue that would let them know what the Haradrims' plans in Gondor were, and when they'd be making any sort of move against the soldiers stationed across the river. From what Legolas could see they didn't look like they were going to attack anyone tonight, if any time soon, contrary to what the people in Gondor's camp believed. At the same time, however, he couldn't be sure. For all he saw they could start gearing up for an assault or try to leave tomorrow.

Approaching voices drove him into the shelter offered in the shadows in between the tents, and he watched with great interest as two men more elaborately dressed than the others in the camp walked by. They were met by other similarly dressed men outside a tent that was larger than the others around it. Automatically intrigued, the elf decided to stay where he was and see what came of the situation. By the way those men were dressed he guessed they were officers, and several officers coming together like that usually meant they were planning something. Perhaps his search for information was over.

An hour later he was sure of it as he watched the officers leaving and the guards taking their places. The prince watched the one guard pace around the tent for a few minutes, then, when he was sure he had it timed right, he raced away from his hiding place and ducked behind the tent nearest the one he sought entry to. No one saw him, so the next time the pacing guard moved away again he ran swiftly and silently across the few yards of open ground. Pressing himself lightly against the fabric, he waited while the man passed by him again. His cloak, having taken on the hue of the canvas, effectively hid him from view.

As soon as the guard moved out of sight again Legolas crouched down and used one of his knives to cut a slit about two feet up the side of the structure. Once finished he pulled it open and slipped silently inside. The canvas wasn't pulled too tight to begin with, so the guard, who was just passing by again, didn't notice anything. He did, however, stop and look around for a few moments, as if he had heard something. Legolas waited, motionless, until the man resumed his pacing.

Letting out a mental sigh of relief, the prince stood and turned, surveying the inside of the tent. The torch that had been used to light the space had been removed, but this mattered little as the light from the many torches scattered throughout the camp shone dimly through the though fabric walls, giving him all the light his night-sighted eyes really needed.

His cursory exam of the tent proved his theory that it had been set up as a convenient meeting place. Carpets littered the floor, and three wooden chests and a couple of leather satchels thrown haphazardly into a corner were all there was otherwise. Two of the chests were placed about a yard from where he stood, the other was only a few feet from the main entrance. Legolas decided to examine the chests closest to him first.

He took one step forward, and once again froze. The carpet underneath him crackled when he put weight on it. A quick examination showed that someone had littered piles of dry leaves and stones underneath the rugs. This confirmed that there was something important being kept in here. Why go through this much trouble if there wasn't? Fortunately for him, the Haradrim had counted on a mortal intruder, one who would alert the guards with the noise he made by moving around. They hadn't counted on an intruder who could walk so lightly that he barely left footprints on freshly fallen snow.

_'These people almost never encounter elves, so why guard against us? Faramir should be very pleased. Even if I don't find anything here Gondor will have a great advantage against these renegades later on should the Haradrim decide to cause further trouble.' _

Legolas crossed the carpets laughing quietly to himself as he walked right on top of the enemy's trap without it ever making a sound. Now his job was to get into the chests. After examining the locks for a few moments he pulled a thin blade out of the wide sash of his disguise and began twisting it around the mechanism's interior, hoping to hear the faint click that would tell him of his success.

Five minutes later he was almost ready to give up and try something else, when the sound he wanted to hear came to his ears, albeit a trifle loud for his liking. He froze, and listened to hear if the sentries had heard it-- nothing. Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth and waste time in contemplating why they might not have heard it, he dug his fingertips underneath the lid and lifted.

Inside were maps, and what looked to be a diagram for the layout of the camp, or a camp at least. This Legolas decided to take with him, for it might prove important later on. He skimmed the maps over, but they seemed only to be ordinary maps of Gondor, Rohan, and even a bit of Rhun. They were unmarked except for what the mapmaker had written, and so he decided to ignore them. Before he closed the chest he inspected it for possible hidden compartments, but found none. He replaced the maps as he had found them, and then relocked the lid. He repeated the same routine with the next chest, but found nothing in this one except blank parchment and other writing materials.

Now he turned his attention to the chest near the entranceway. This one would be more difficult to search. Its close proximity to the two stationary guards made it that much more likely that they would hear if he made even the smallest sound. Absolute silence was even more crucial now.

Once again Legolas crossed the carpets with silent ease. The chest seemed in all appearances to be identical to the other two, except he did notice that it was much bigger than the others. The locks on them had been fairly loud when forced open; he should expect the same with this one.

While he worked the tumblers, he kept a wad of his cloak pressed around his "lock pick", hoping it would help to muffle the sound. When it did open, he winced slightly. The noise had still been louder than he would have hoped, but pressing the cloak against it did help. No sound came from the guards outside, so apparently it had been enough and it was only his highly sensitive hearing that was making it seem so loud. He dug his fingertips underneath the lid and began to lift, only to be forced to stop once more as his ears detected what he identified to possibly be the beginnings of a dangerously loud creak. Not willing to take any chances, Legolas let go of the lid and reached around the back of the trunk. He ran his hands along the hinges, and his face took on a knowing grimace.

_'Of course, if you want to make getting into the thing without someone nearby hearing-- don't maintain the hinges. Rusted and stiff hinges always make the most noise.' _Legolas bit back a sigh of annoyance and began inspecting the outside of the chest, growling to himself as he tried to find an alternative way in. _'Stupid, smart_ feirin_. They don't have a clue when it comes to elves, yet they still manage to make things difficult for us.'_

After a few moments of inspection Legolas decided that cutting his way in would be best. Not necessarily the easiest method and it would mean one of his knives was going to be a bit dull for a while, but it was the quietest course of action he could think of. _'Oh, go ahead. It's not like you have only one blade.' _

With this thought he once again brought out a white knife from its hiding place in his disguise, and began working it in between two boards on the right side. He cut a large section, taking out almost the whole end of the chest so it wouldn't be too obvious when he replaced it. As Legolas continued diligently to sever the cross bars on the inside he hoped it wouldn't be.

Elvish steel is sharper and holds edges better than most other blades, which allowed him to work faster and cut cleaner than if he had used a human-made blade. Still it was some time and stress on his hyper-alert senses before the cut-out was complete. With a triumphant smile he jammed his knife into the top left corner and began to pry it loose.

It came free and he was reaching out to grab it and hold it open while he worked the other corner free when something in him screamed, _'No!'_

He pulled his hand back and picked up the smaller blade he'd used to pick the locks. Slipping it into the small opening he angled it around. The source of his feeling of extreme danger made itself known a moment later. A bulb with a wicked-looking curved barb at its end slammed viciously into the small knife with a tiny 'ping'. He swore softly, knowing exactly what it was, though he'd never met a real-life specimen before.

He'd read about them once, years ago, when he was much younger and his days were filled more with lessons in history and political science than council meetings and border patrols. Back then he'd also seen enough drawings to be able to recognize one if he ever did meet it, though he had never thought he would.

It was a scorpion. An insidious little arachnid commonly found in the desert, but almost never here in the north. He'd read that some of them weren't too dangerous; the poison would only make one ill. But there were others whose barbed tails could bring death faster than the victim could blink. Legolas removed both knives, using the white one's hilt to make sure the section was packed back in tightly. He didn't really care to find out what kind of scorpions these were, and in all likelihood there was more than one in there. Scorpions didn't do particularly well in colder areas, bringing more than one might ensure the Haradrim's supply of them wouldn't run out as fast.

Legolas got up and turned away from the chest, deciding he would just have to leave it. It was far too big to bring with him. If Faramir decided it was truly important to see what was inside then they could decide to capture the camp and deal with the chests dangerous occupants in broad daylight. That way would be safest. It wasn't so crucial that he get into the chest now, not when he had the diagram to get back.

Legolas walked towards his self-made exit. As he moved through the tent he scanned around, ensuring himself that he hadn't missed anything. His eyes lighted on the two satchels lying near the scorpion-occupied chest.

The elf paused, regarding them with narrowed eyes. Would the Haradrim really be so confident as to put important documents in an innocent-looking and unguarded place and hope it got overlooked by placing more elaborate and heavily guarded decoys nearby?

_'Can't hurt to look.'_

Crouching in front of the first pouch, he carefully unfastened the flap and looked inside. What he saw were several documents covered in writing. There were others, but they all carried seals. The second satchel held an equal amount of maps, all heavily notated in ways that suggested they weren't depicting old trade routes. A grin came unbidden to his face. Apparently the Haradrim were so confident. _'They would have been better off putting them in with the scorpions. Fatal mistake, not that I'm complaining.'_ Legolas shook his head, fighting to bring his excitement down to a minimum. _'Don't get cocky yet. You still have to get them out of the camp and back to Faramir and Mennel.'_

For a moment he contemplated reopening the second chest and putting blank documents to replace the ones he was taking in the satchels. That way he could leave them behind and not have to worry about them being discovered when he snuck back out. In the end he decided against this, since he would be searched completely if he were caught anyway. Replacing the documents would take too long anyway. He couldn't risk staying in here any longer than he had to, and Legolas decided he'd been there too long already.

With both satchels stuffed into his pack he moved with a silence that would have impressed a wraith. Reaching the cut in the tent he pulled it open ever so slightly, peering out, looking for anyone who might catch him. Seeing no one, he slipped slowly through the opening, keeping as close as possible to the tent wall. Outside the camp was quiet, too quiet. Legolas could hear the men by the fires and in some of the closer tents, but other than that all was silent. The prince's eyes narrowed, senses reaching out to seek the guards that were supposed to be nearby, in particular the one that had been circling the tent. Again-- nothing. But something didn't feel right. He felt their presence near.

_'Perhaps they finally tired and decided to ease their watch.'_ To that he gave a mental snort. _'Yea and you've seen enough to know that those who assume such usually end up caught.' _

One thing the elf also knew was that the guards wouldn't give up their quarry if they were convinced it was there, so standing were he was and waiting for them to go away wouldn't work in ending this stalemate. At this point his smartest move would be simply to run.

Reaching up, Legolas unfastened his cloak. Holding the brooch with the third and fourth fingers of his left hand, he held the cape and hood around him with his right as he prepared himself for his first move. Mentally he went over what he would do once he was away from this tent and in a moment had a basic plan together. That done, he ceased his contemplation and burst into motion.

Breaking cover he ran as swiftly and silently as he could amongst the tents. Behind him he heard an eruption of enemy swearing and footsteps following him. As he ran he idly wondered how they had discovered him, and why they hadn't come after them before now. _'Does it matter?'_ his mind remarked. _'They know you're here, so focus on losing them. And this time, refrain from letting them find you again!' _

His speed combined with his silent movements and the maze of tents allowed him to get out of his pursuers' line of sight long enough to cast off his cloak and stow it in his pack. Casually stepping out from the shadows he began to walk back towards the fires the sentries had all been relaxing around where he had entered the camp. Leaving from that point might be a bit trickier, but it did give him the quickest and surest way back to the spot he'd been advised to go to for his return trip across the river. Behind him he could hear the guards looking for him, two of them from the sound of it. The third had either stayed behind to ensure no one else got into the meeting tent, or had gone to get more help.

As he got closer to the fires Legolas made certain to approach them from a different direction than the swiftly heightening commotion he'd caused. A few of the soldiers sitting around the blaze hailed him. To his credit however, Legolas had heard and read enough about the Southrons to be able to pretend he was mute, and thus mask his inability to speak their language. Raising his hand and tapping his trachea with his fingertips, he made a rasping, almost choking sound, like he was trying to speak but couldn't.

One of the men gave him a funny look, as if he couldn't remember having ever seen a mute soldier in their midst before. Legolas tensed almost imperceptivity, ready to spring forward and race out of the camp right then should the soldier press the matter and discover his real identity. To his profound relief the soldier in a matter of moments simply gave up trying to figure out this strange newcomer and turned his attention back to the person sitting next to him, resuming the conversation they'd been having. The rest ignored him as well, though a few glanced at him every now and then.

Legolas sat and removed his pack, leaning against it and simply observing. His keen ears easily brought to him the sounds of the tent guards' search, which had now escalated to the point where the men around him were beginning to get wind of it. He ignored it, choosing instead to soak up the warmth the fire offered and gaze up into the sky. Unfortunately, the storm clouds obscured any view of the stars.

His vision did happen to catch a small dark shape wing its way toward the fires. He followed it as it dove down and lighted on a tent. He smiled underneath his head wrap. It was good to see birds returning to these lands at winter's end, though he was a bit surprised to see one flying at night. Especially since this bird looked like a sparrow, a species that doesn't normally fly at night.

Thinking of sparrows brought Legolas' mind back to the confusing and somewhat disturbing attack, as well as his argument with Faramir.

_'What provoked that anyway?'_ Now that he had time to really think about it, he couldn't figure out what had brought on such a heated argument. Sure, they had both been upset and had disagreed about how to proceed in the wake of the Wargs' departure, but that still didn't account for the intensity of the dispute, or half of the things that had been said.

A loud shout and the sound of more people than before running around brought the fair-haired elf abruptly back to his surroundings. _'They must have gotten help. I've been here long enough, time to get out.'_ Legolas kept his posture relaxed and turned his head towards the sounds like everyone else, appearing to be interested. His real interest wasn't in the guards' search; it was on searching his peripheral vision for a way to leave the camp without arousing any suspicion. He pushed all thoughts of the earlier portion of the day to the back of his head, determining to speak with Faramir about it when he got back. For now he had to find a way out of here before the Haradrim stopped looking amongst the tents and turned their efforts to the outer portions of the camp.

He would need his departure to look legitimate, so no one would try and stop him. Once out he would still have to get across a full mile of open ground and then get across the river and back into friendly territory. Since he had been discovered far earlier than originally planned, the realization of what exactly it was that he took would come that much sooner as well.

The best thing for him would be to be well on his way back to his own camp by then. This, however, meant that stopping and taking the time to change back into his own clothes was out of the question. He would simply have to hope that he would be able to convey to Faramir that he wasn't one of the enemy before the man put an arrow or sword in him.

His first task, he decided, was to fabricate a justifiable reason for leaving the camp so as to not look suspicious, an added bonus being that he might create confusion so as not to be missed. As he pretended along with the rest of the men to pay attention to the increasing commotion, he searched his peripheral vision for anything that would give him an idea.

As he searched, one of the logs on the fire gave a loud crack and collapsed, sending up a shower of sparks. One of them landed on Legolas' exposed cheek bone and he quickly reached up to brush it off as it began to burn his skin, absent-mindedly wishing it had burned one of the Haradrim instead.

Legolas' eyes widened as the idea came to him. If he could somehow set one of the men's clothing on fire, he could run off as if to get water to put the flames out. The Southron's kept buckets of water around the fires so they could be put out easily, but if Legolas was to reach the nearest bucket first and then somehow manage to spill it he would be able to run off with the pretense of retrieving more.

One of the other soldiers would probably get another bucket and put out the flames rather quickly, but as long as it gave him enough time to get out of the firelight he could get down to the river while the rest were still focused on the fire victim. He'd still have to get past the sentries, but they wouldn't be expecting an attack from behind.

The fire had begun to die down a bit since most of its fuel had been consumed. Another soldier made as if to get up to add more wood, but Legolas stood and gestured to him to stay were he was. Picking up a few fagots from the pile near the fire-ring he placed them on top of the ashes and burned remains of wood and drew his scimitar. Thrusting it into the ashes he stirred the flames back to life. As he did so, he looked for a good sized ember. Not too big, but hot enough that it would stay burning long enough to light a man's clothing.

Selecting one, he gave his blade a skillful and subtle twist, which went completely unnoticed by those around him. The ember flew from the fire-ring to land at the thigh of one of the men who had been sitting a few feet from the spy. The man, not noticing it, shifted his legs into a more comfortable position directly on top of the ember. Legolas likewise returned to his previous place, settling down just enough to fool those around him into thinking he was relaxed. In truth he was prepared to spring towards that water pail when the soldier or one of his friends realized his clothes were on fire.

It didn't take long. A minute later another man gave a startled shout, followed by a panicked scream as the elf's victim jerked to his feet, twisting and slapping at his burning pants leg. Legolas pretended to look frightened like the rest of them, but only hesitated a split second before leaping to his feet and lunging towards the water-filled bucket sitting a couple of yards behind him.

Bending down he grabbed the handle, and was straightening up when a heavy, writhing mass slammed into him, throwing him to the ground and upsetting the bucket, spilling the contents all over the prince's face. He was further smothered as the form on top of him continued to roll back and forth, forcing his face into the ground and barely giving him enough room or chance to breathe.

He tried to force his way up, only to be knocked back down again by a wildly swinging arm that connected with the side of his head. The carved bone sewn into the man's bracers cut into the corner of his eye, and he gritted his teeth in pain as sand and mud was forced into the wound.

A shower of cold water drenched the elf's legs and brought with it the blessed relief of the body on top of him stilling its panicked thrashing as it shakily rolled off of him, collapsing into a quaking heap. Legolas pushed himself up onto his elbows, trying to wipe the embedded bits of sand and blood out of his eyes as painlessly as possible. His efforts met with little success as he quickly found, and so he simply bore it.

Once his vision was sufficiently cleared, he opened his eyes, accepting with exasperated annoyance that his plan had been foiled, and he would simply have to brush himself off and try another tactic. His resigned calm was shattered then, as two sets of strong arms latched onto his and dragged him roughly to his feet. As soon as he was up both arms were twisted so that his hands rested together against his upper back, then he felt himself cruelly lifted up until he stood on the tips of his toes.

His shoulders screamed in protest as they were forced to support his body weight at an angle nature never intended them to. Reflexively he arched his back to try to alleviate some of the pain, but to no avail. He clenched his teeth together and refused to cry out as he glared at the Southron lieutenant standing in front of him.

The man returned his glare. Behind him Legolas could see the man he'd set on fire rock back and forth on the ground. He was moaning and holding his leg in obvious agony. Another soldier was doing his best to hold his burned friend down until help arrived. Legolas' gaze was abruptly brought back to the extremely irate person in front of him when the lieutenant pulled back his fist and slammed it into the elf's already hurting shoulder joint.

_'Remind me never to let Aragorn do that again, even if it's only in jest,'_ Legolas thought absently as he gave the soldier the most irritated gaze he could despite the increase in pain. "We do not take kindly to spies, northerner."

Legolas might not have been able to speak the Haradrim tongue, but the Haradrim were all taught Westron from a young age so they could trade and do business with the men from the north. Thus the human was able to speak to the elf in a way he thought the other would understand.

When the prince didn't answer right away the man reached forward and ripped the head wrap from his head. When the burned Haradrim had tackled Legolas he had knocked loose both the turban and some of the clips holding his hair back. It was the sight of the few wispy bits of blond hair that had tipped the lieutenant off to the fact that his camp had been infiltrated.

The Southron's eyes narrowed as he took in his prisoner's incandescent skin, long hair flowing over his shoulders like a pale gold river, and his stormy blue-grey eyes which seemed to almost flash with a light of their own amongst the wet charcoal dust dripping down his face. For a moment he was able to keep his eyes locked on those of the elf, but was then forced to look away.

He tried to cover it up by turning and calling others to him, but Legolas knew with grim satisfaction that the man had been shaken. "So you are one of those ancient creatures we have heard legends of. Elves, I believe they are called? You are reported to be nigh impossible to catch, and yet here you are at the mercy of me and my men," he said with an amused sneer when finally he had dredged up enough courage to meet the immortal's gaze again.

"You should thank your unfortunate friend there," Legolas gestured to the burn victim, who was finally being treated by the camp healer and prepared to be put on a stretcher. "If not for him seeking to used my body to soften his dive onto the ground you never would have known I was here."

"This may be true, but it does not excuse the fact that you are a spy," the lieutenant nodded. "What were you looking for?"

Legolas didn't care to speak with this fellow about what he had been doing while he was in the camp, so he merely pursed his lips and refused to answer. As he expected, his silent response was met with more violence.

The lieutenant lashed out, wrist bent so that the bone tip of his bracer stuck out. Swiping it in a sharp arch, he dug it into the outside corner of Legolas' left eye, lengthening and deepening the cut the other soldier's bracer had given him by accident. Legolas winced and tried to pull away, eyes tightly shut as he gasped almost imperceptively in fear.

It wasn't the pain or the cut itself that was so horrible, though it did sting and burn, and he did feel the bracer scrape bone as his eyes welled up with tears in an attempt to further protect themselves. What was most terrible was the thought that if the lieutenant had but struck a half an inch to the right, he could have destroyed the elf's eye altogether, forever robbing him of half his sight. What was even worse was that the man was perfectly capable of still doing so, and not just to one, but to both of his eyes.

The lieutenant saw the fear in his captive's face and smirked. He had thought so. Permanent loss of eyesight was something even the most stoic of humans feared. Apparently it was also true with elves, perhaps enough that he could use it to get the elf to finally talk. He had his orders, and this spy was a liability, one he couldn't afford to keep around. According to what he'd been told by his commander, they had to be ready to move as soon as they received their orders.

If they met with resistance from the northerners, they were to engage, but their main priority was to deliver the two satchels full of important documents they had been entrusted with. These had to be delivered at all costs, and anyone or thing that could jeopardize this disposed of. Either the elf talked freely or they would simply search him, which they would do anyway, and then kill him. They couldn't afford prisoners at this time.

Looking at the determined and ire-filled gaze of the elf, the soldier could tell instantly that he wouldn't talk easily. Any fool that looked into his eyes could see that. Making up his mind swiftly, he motioned for one of the men standing next to him to search the elf and to relieve him of his weapons. The underling complied, and in a few moments there was a small mound of weapons, both elven and Haradrim, lying on the ground. On top of them lay the two satchels.

The lieutenant narrowed his eyes at the sight of them, and he bent down swiftly and snatched them up. Opening them, he brought out one of the papers, scanned it briefly, and then turned his glare on the fair-haired spy in front of him.

"It seems my question has been answered then, though how Gondor found out about these I have no idea," he growled as he replaced the paper and slung the bags over his shoulder. He turned and began to walk amongst the tents, signaling for the men to follow. Their grip and the angle they forced his shoulders into didn't change, and Legolas found himself imagining that every bit of cartilage, muscle and tendon in them was being torn apart inch by slow inch.

He stopped paying attention to where they were taking them, focusing instead on finding some way to take the pressure off his arms. When they finally stopped their winding trek, the lieutenant disappeared inside one of the tents. A repeated crunching sound reached Legolas' ears, and he stopped paying attention to his shoulders for a moment as he gazed in the tent in front of him.

It was the same tent he had infiltrated earlier, except now it was once again lit from within, and he could hear people talking and moving around inside. _'Why did they bring_ _me_ _back here?'_ he wondered as he listened to the lieutenant say something in the desert tongue, and heard a deeper voice angrily reply. Further contemplation was halted for a moment however, when the flap was thrown open again and Legolas was hustled inside.

Standing in the middle of the tent was the commander he had seen earlier. The man regarded him coldly, holding in his hand the pouches the elf had tried to smuggle out of the camp. Legolas returned the look with an icy glare of his own as he was forced to kneel in front of the man. Another man came in holding a length of rope, which he bound the elf's wrists and arms with, ensuring that his arms remained twisted behind him, though he was given a bit of relief as the pressure was taken off his shoulders once they were in place. The man made sure to pull the ropes tight so they would not only be uncomfortable, but painful as well.

When the soldier was finished with his work the commander spoke, his deep voice booming in the enclosed space, "You have infiltrated our camp, trespassed on our territory, stolen from us and severely burned one of our soldiers. In addition you have also murdered one of our sentries, for there is no other way you could have gotten into our camp, and one such person has been reported missing. What have you to say for yourself?"

Legolas said nothing; they would either torture and then slay him, or simply slay him outright. There were no other ways this situation could end. He'd seen their camp; they had no way of keeping prisoners. As much as he hated to admit it, the soldier had known what he was doing when he'd tied these knots. There was no way the elf could free himself in his current position, and if he had to die it wasn't going to be with the knowledge that he'd betrayed any information to the enemy.

The commander took in his prisoner, his eyes the set of his mouth and jaw, and the way he held himself. He'd interrogated a lot of prisoners in his career, enough to be able to read their body language. He could tell with each one just how easy or hard it would be to break them; in fact it was something commanders were taught as they were promoted and moved higher up the ranks. The quicker and easier you could break a person, the better, and this elf would take a long time to break even with all of his weaknesses exploited, something the commander didn't have time for.

"Well then," he shrugged, "I guess there's no reason to keep you alive then."

He turned to the lieutenant, feeling the prisoner's wrathful glare on him as he spoke. "Put him in with the scorpions. If he's still alive in an hour, I'll question him again. I'll leave the antidote in here in case one of you or he needs it. Otherwise you are not to touch it, understand?"

The lieutenant nodded. The commander walked out of the tent, giving his prisoner an all-knowing and evil smile as he left. _You'll beg me to kill you before the end_, it said, to which Legolas returned with an amused smile and gracefully raised eyebrow. _Don't bet on it._

Once his leader was out of the room, the lieutenant gestured for the men to bring the elf forward. As they complied he took a key from a pouch at his belt and inserted it into the lock. He turned it and it snapped open. The men holding Legolas picked him bodily off the ground as he struggled and kicked. Finally they got fed up and one of them gave his leg a cruel twist as another slammed his fists down on the prince's hip as hard as he could.

Legolas felt an odd and painful sensation as he suddenly found that his leg was getting numb and he could hardly move it. The Haradrim, taking advantage of his momentary immobility, yanked open the chest as the rest almost simultaneously thrust him inside the tight space. The moment he was in they slammed the lid shut again. Faintly he heard it being locked, but this only heightened his panic as he hear something with eight clacking legs scurry across the walls and onto his leg. A moment later he felt a sharp pain as something pointed and unpleasant slammed into his thigh.

If there was one type of environment the elf hated it was one that was very dark and very small. Caves were the worst, no matter what their size. However he had to admit that even the Mines of Moria were beginning to look pretty good compared to this coffin he found himself in now. Out of sheer fear of having to die in here without the wind and the sky and the trees and the stars he began to struggle, fighting against his bonds and twisting around.

Unfortunately all this got him was about three more stings, one on his right arm, one on his chest which frightened him more than anything else, and the last one on the lower left side of his ribs. Forcing himself to stay still he thought about ways that he could possibly get out of there. A moment later he found himself ready to scream with frustration as his mind came up empty. There was no way for him to get out. Even if he decided to wait the hour for the soldiers to come back they'd probably only throw him back in here again, and this time make it permanent. No matter what the cost he would tell them nothing.

This left him only the option of death. He hated it worse than the sound of the Black Speech, to be slain by a distant cousin of the spiders he had so fervently hunted, but there was nothing left for it. He already had a substantial amount of venom in him, and since he was still alive it must not be so deadly, at least not to elves. If writhing about made them agitated enough to sting him, then that's what he would do. Let no one have the satisfaction of torturing him further later on.

He kicked out, and heard the creature on his leg clack its pincers with displeasure, but the elf no longer paid the arachnids any attention. He pushed his feet hard against the end of the chest again, and started praising the Valar in every tongue he knew, a huge smile on his face as he did so. Perhaps they didn't hate him so much after all.

He had completely forgotten about the cut-out he'd made in the end of the chest when he'd tried to break into it earlier. Now his goal became not aggravating the scorpions, but kicking out the section without provoking them any more than he had to. Fortunately, it didn't take more than a few calculated strikes to knock it out. He stopped and listened for anyone who might have heard it, but then again they expected him to be struggling already, so it probably mattered not what they heard.

Actually getting out of the hole was even worse than he'd thought, and he ended up with still two more bites on his chest and just above his right elbow before he managed to twist, turn, and writhe his way out. When he finally pulled his head out and sat with his legs tucked under him he was feeling sick and hot, but at least he was free. Well, almost. There was still the small matter of him being in an enemy camp and his arms were still tied, but he was out of the chest, and for the moment that was enough.

As he sat regaining his strength he looked around. To his great surprise and pleasure someone had put his knives and quiver back on his pack where they were supposed to be. His bow was also there. _'They probably wanted it all kept together so they could send it back with my dead body to Faramir, or because good knives and bows are of high value to them and the commander decided to keep them for that reason.'_

On the floor in front of the chest was a bottle of some sort of reddish liquid. Apparently that was the anti-venom the commander had spoken of. Reaching over he grabbed the bottle with his teeth and shoved it inside his pack. Most likely one of the soldiers had left it open when they'd rifled through it. Strapping it closed took some patience, and he felt very bad for anyone who'd ever lost one or both of their arms by the time he was done.

At first he'd contemplated trying to cut his bonds, but realized that they were so tight and had his hands and arms in such an awkward position he'd probably only hurt himself. He'd just have to suffer through getting out with them on. He realized that it decreased his chances at survival considerably, but now that he had at least a taste of freedom he wasn't going to give up again so easily.

With a bit more patience and inventive maneuvering he managed to get the straps of his pack onto his shoulders. There was no way he would leave his beloved weapons when they were right in front of him.

He knew there would be someone at the tent flap, guarding against the remote possibility that their prisoner escaped. This mattered little to him since he had already made his own entrance and exit. He walked silently over to the slit he'd cut, and poked his head out. No one was there, so he slipped out, ducking low as he walked on his knees to make sure his bow didn't get caught. Once out he simply ran.

This time he didn't go near the fires, he went almost directly to the edge of the camp. He had to make a slight detour when he saw someone walking towards him, and fortunately he did not have to rely on his arms to move silently. Once there, he plunged into the welcoming darkness the plains offered. While he went he kept a close watch for the sentries, keeping crouched low to the ground and letting the sound of the river lead him to it.

The venom of the scorpions was well working its foul magic by now, and the prince was feeling every bit of it, though he could tell the worst was yet to come. The stings themselves were sore and itchy, he felt feverish and weak, yet shivered at the cold. He needed to get back to Faramir, one of the men he brought was well versed in healing illnesses and other ailments associated with the south as well as wounds. He would be able to help him, especially since the elf carried the anti-venom with him.

Legolas managed to keep himself from falling down the embankment and into the water, but his decent was anything but graceful. As he gazed across the river to see how close he was to the camp he saw the dark outline of the town directly across, which meant he'd meandered a bit too far northwest. That at least explained the lack of sentries he'd encountered.

The swirling waters looked no better than they had when he'd last crossed them, they looked far worse. Now he not only had to swim without using his arms, he also had to worry about the sudden fatigue brought on by the venom running through his veins. For a moment he considered letting the poisons take him, but that thought was silenced by the sounds of nature riding around him on the back of the wind.

Instead he found himself brainstorming ways he could get across without drowning. There wasn't any ford; the parts of the river that were shallow enough to serve such a purpose were flooded. He couldn't pole vault across, and even a horse wouldn't be able to jump it. Legolas stopped. Maybe a horse couldn't jump the entire thing, but it still could jump part of the way and swim the rest.

Legolas looked at the width of the river, judging approximately how wide it was. Then he studied the river bank on his side. Ten feet from where he stood the bank jutted out rather than sloping down; a perfect place to jump from. It even jutted out about a foot over the water. Legolas smiled to himself. He may not be a horse, but elves could jump pretty far, and as long as he managed to cover as much distance as he could before hitting the water it was okay with him.

Backing up half a dozen yards he took a few deep breaths to calm himself and collect what was left of his waning strength. He felt ready to collapse, but pushed that and his fevered shivering aside as he took off.

Racing as faced as he could he timed his strides so he could get the maximum use out of the outcropping. He didn't want to end up jumping from the midway point of ledge; he wanted to jump from the edge. In the end he had no worries as he managed to not only take off from the edge, but also cover almost two thirds of the distance.

The shock of the cold water brought him out of his fatigue for the time being, and for a moment his concern was that he would lose his pack and weapons. They stayed some how, maybe another gesture that the Valar were being at least a little nice to him, and his focus became swimming as best as he could towards the opposite side. That proved to be a task he would have wished only on his direst enemies.

More than once he was dragged under, only to spend that much more energy fighting back to the surface, sometimes even using the bottom of the river to "walk" himself closer to his goal. Legolas was one very bedraggled and half-drowned elf prince when he finally dragged himself onto the shore.

As he looked around he could see that the water had washed him a ways past the town, but that he was also still closer to it than to the camp. His strength almost gone he knew he at least had to get somewhere warm as fast as possible so he could dry off. The cold air and water were aiding his body in fighting his fever, but the fatigue and cold combined could still bring him down. Perhaps in the town he could also borrow a horse, which would aid him greatly.

That being decided he forced his aching legs to carry him once more. His left leg was so stiff and painful he could barely stand, let alone walk, which aided him in staying on his feet. Once he collapsed he knew for a fact he wasn't going to be able to get back up again.

_'Right, left, right, left…'_ Legolas kept repeating this to himself as he trudged towards the town. After a while he no longer knew how close or far away he was from the town. All he knew was walking. One foot, then the other, then the first one again. It was all there was and nothing else existed except the vague and foreign word poking at the back of his mind: town.

A startled shout brought him out of his the silent and dark tunnel his eyes and mind had dwindled down to.

"It's one of those desert-men! I'll bring 'im down."

"No, wait. Something's not right."

"Of course it's not; he's on our side of the river!"

"Gesan, wait!"

"I won't kill 'im, I'll just wound 'im so he can't get away."

"No!"

Legolas had been wondering what those voices where talking about and where exactly they had been coming from when he felt something sharp and hard slam into his leg. For a moment he felt nothing, and then pain engulfed him as his body decided it had had enough. He never even knew he had fallen as sweet oblivion took him.

**_(Wipes tears from her eyes as she grins maniacally)_ My first cliff-hanger. _(sniff)_ Oh, I'm so pleased with myself. _(readers start launching all manner of nasty-looking objects at her)_ Come on people, you know you love them. _(more nasty sharp, blunt, and just plain grotesque objects are thrown)_ Okay, we'll just say they're the kind of chapter endings we all love to hate because they frustrate the heck out of us yet we can't do without them because in the long run they give the story so much more appeal and they keep us interested. Does that work for you? Good, because they also force us to either exercise out use of patience, or in some cases impatience while we wait for the author to update and allow us to get our hearts out of our throats and back where they belong. _(ducks barrage of spiked shoes)_ Unless of course they make the next chapter a cliffy as well or even worse, _(glares at LAXgirl)_makes then ending of the story a cliffy. Not to worry, though, I won't leave you in the dark like I did Legolas and be very long in getting the next post out. _(readers_ _their eyes at her, not believing a word she's said)_ No, seriously! Leaving this chapter as a cliffy has me far more agitated than I anticipated, and I have to take a road trip to see a college today so I'll have ample time to write. So look for chapter four, known by you as chapter five, in say….a week and a half/two weeks?**

**Okay, I said I'd put the reviews I didn't have time for in the last post, which was all of them, in this one. So here they are along with all the ones from chapter 3. Wait a sec though. Someone said in their review that they weren't wild about 'Sindarin Fox' as a title. I thought it fit the story pretty well, but if anyone feels the same and has any ideas for a different title, feel free to e-mail them to me, or sent them in your reviews. My e-mail address can be found on my bio-page.**

**Deana: Kudos to you girl, you're the first one to review more than one chapter! (hugs Deana) I'm glad to hear you like it so much. You want to hear something weird but cool. I actually read two of your Mummy fanfics on another website, I can't remember it's name but it was about a year ago. Anyway, I thought they were great! One Thing After Another had me both cracking up and crying for Ardeth and Rick the entire time. It has got to be one of the most perfect blends of angst and humor ever written. I've actually read it more than once. The ****Euphrates**** Stone was also good. I loved reading about Ardeth seeing snow for the first time. It was soo cute! It's awesome hearing you're on ffnet, now I can read the rest of your fics. Sorry it took me so long to update.**

**Lindahoyland**** I'm so flattered to hear I'm on someone's alerts list. _(grins and screams like a little kid) _Wow, I'm glad you like it so much. I try to put suspense and mystery into it but with both my betas currently awol, it's hard to know if I've got it right or not. Thanks!**

**MJEmery**** Thanks, it's nice to hear that people like how I write. Writing is kind of an extension of how a person views the world around them. It's very difficult to change. Here's more for you to read, hope the wait didn't discourage you.**

**Setrinan**** Wow, I'm absolutely floored. Your review actually had me crying for a moment, until I started dripping tears on the keyboard. Every time I read it I'm still stunned. As one of the newer and greener authors on ffnet, compliments really help, yours especially. Very rarely have I ever seen a review from you on any of the stories I've read or am still reading, so I take it to heart when you say you don't review much, and I value it even more. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

**Itsuki**** Tachibana: Thanks. Glad you like the long chapters, so do I. So, yes, I will keep it up.**

**Star-Stallion: Glad to hear from you and I'm glad you like it. Sorry to keep you and everyone else waiting, but school's been hell and I needed decent grades for my college transcript. The next chapter as I said should be hear sooner.**

**Moonyasha**** Amazing how one word can have so much power and effect on someone. Lol I take it you're enjoying the story then? That means a lot to me, I spend so much time and effort writing it's nice to know people enjoy it, so thanks.**

**Alright, after all the grief and stuff I put our beloved elf prince through and then left you all with one-of-those-endings- that-shall-not-be-named, you have to have something to say. So click on the little box that says review and say it! What you liked, what you didn't like, what you think needs improvement…. as long as it's constructive and not a flame, send it over. Feedback makes me write faster and chapters get out sooner. In the meantime I have to post this and finish getting ready for school. You know I pulled an all-nighter to get this done? Oh well. Writing's better than sleep anyway.**


	5. Venom

**A/N: /throws confetti into the air/ Happy New Year guys! /ducks barrage of roman candles/ Yes, I know. My update is late once more. Very sorry about that, chaps. (and sorry about my lame attempt at British /grin/ )Actually, according to Kelsey Estel it's exactly 60 days late. Hehehe, oops. Didn't mean to make you wait that long—really! School just got in the way (and they said Senior Year was supposed to be easy! Liars, all of them.), and I also had an attack of writer's block, or as I like to call it 'Muse Abandonment Syndrome'. But, nevertheless here it is at last. So now you may go on and meet the person who shot Legolas, the people who are trying to save him (with mixed results) and a new bad guy whom you've already met gives himself a proper introduction. **

**A/N: Oh, and a very special thanks to Kelsey Estel for letting me know just how long it had been since the last update. That really lit a fire under me girl! Kudos to you and a new chapter GRIN . I also have to thank my beta, Skylark555, for her support and editing skills. **

**Disclaimer: No, Lord of the Rings and its characters, places, people, etc. are not mine, but I wish it were! For full disclaimer see the prologue (listed as chapter 1). **

**Chapter 4: Venom**

The arrow flew purposefully through the air and struck the shadowy figure, abruptly and efficiently stopping its advance on the two men standing guard at the gate. The person didn't even cry out, he simply dropped to the ground like a puppet cut from its strings and lay motionless.

Ossir felt himself clench his fists and forced his lungs to draw in and exhale as he grasped for control of his rapidly declining patience. Next to him a tall, bright-eyed youth lowered his bow, beaming with pride at the successful shot. He had always had a knack for archery, but night shooting was a new skill for him, and he still got excited every time he made a shot. His older companion, however, was not as thrilled.

"I told you to wait, Gesan," he growled.

Gesan looked at him curiously, not yet grasping the other's cause for displeasure. His younger eyes had first spotted the figure wearing desert garb, and he had acted accordingly by taking the person down. Since he was only one, Gesan didn't shoot to kill, but he still made sure to render the person as immobile as possible. He had done what he had been ordered to do, so what was Ossir so upset about?

"What? I got him didn't I? We were told to keep Haradrim from getting into the town and that's what I did."

Ossir took another calming breath, then began listing the reasons the younger soldier should had stayed his hand. "First of all, I told you to stop, and you should have found reason enough in that. Furthermore, did you not notice that he was not only limping, but staggering towards us? Or that he held himself as if he could not rely on his upper body for aid if he fell or lost his balance? Or that his hair and skin seemed to be lighter than a Southron's usually is?"

Gesan's face lost more and more self-pride with each word that jetted from his friend's mouth. He and Ossir had been working together for a few months now, and already he had found himself learning more from the older veteran than he had when he went through training. For a tanner's son who had joined the army not knowing anything this was saying a lot. Even more so he had come to value the man as a friend. One of his only friends, for that matter, as he found himself assigned to the borders while almost everyone he knew stayed in or near Minas Tirith. The thought of disappointing him made Geran want to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Ossir took the shamed look on the boy's face as an affirmative that he hadn't noticed or acknowledged any of those details. It wasn't a surprise to him. Youth, in all of their arrogant glory, never took the time to think, or read into a situation. Those that did were few and far between, and Gesan, for all of the promise he showed as a warrior, wasn't one of them. Though he wasn't as hotheaded as some were, he would still race out with sword flashing and arrows screaming into the night if not guided properly. It was Ossir's job to give Gesan that guidance, and though he never enjoyed seeing the boy so downcast as when he lectured him, he still needed to show the boy his error if he was to learn from it.

"When I tell you to do something it's for a reason, Gesan. You have a lot of talent, enough that you could possibly be a good commander someday. But that won't come if you don't learn to handle yourself properly while out in the field. When I tell you to do something, Do it. I'm doing this so you can learn. The borders are the most dangerous place to be sent right now. Most new soldiers don't last if someone doesn't take the time to condition them to it. You're lucky; you have me to give you that guidance. Not everyone does, so use it to your advantage, especially if you want to go home alive when we are called back to Minas Tirith."

By this time he could see that the boy had adequately absorbed his message. It wouldn't be the last time Gesan was given such a lecture. Like a newly trained colt, it would take a few more years to season him to the point were Ossir would stop being his mentor and start being his peer. That point many spoke of as 'too young to know everything, but old enough to know how to survive'.

Ossir had trained several young men to that point, all hand-chosen by him or recommended by one of his superiors. He himself had been an officer at one point, but he'd given it up as he got older in favor of training some of the youngsters. His current leader, Mennel, he had trained himself to be his replacement. Thus far Mennel had proven to be a fine choice, though he still came to Ossir for advice now and then. Which was fine. As long as he remained for the majority of the time independent, Ossir didn't mind.

Taking young soldiers and guiding them either so they could survive long enough to learn the ropes of military life and then carve an existence for themselves or, in the case of those showing a bit more promise than that, to become future officers had since then become commonplace in Gondor. Ossir had seen through training Mennel how effective such mentoring could be, and had gotten his long-time friend Almeran in on it. Almeran agreed on the potential of the idea, after trying it himself, and had run it past Faramir, who'd also agreed that it was worth pursuing.

Boromir had felt the same when Faramir told him, and together the two had petitioned their father to let them give it a trial run. He'd agreed, after seeing the success Ossir had in training Mennel, and how far along Almeran's student had come. They recruited other veterans and young soldiers, and within a year Ossir's mentoring/apprenticeship training program was permanently a part of Gondor's military, and not just for the fighters. Weapons masters like Almeran, and palace guards also found their own way of altering it to suit their own vocations as well.

Gesan was Ossir's current trainee, and never had he given second thought to choosing him. The boy was reckless, impatient, impulsive, and somewhat overeager, but he was also attentive, willing, honest, responsible, and cunning. He tried hard, learned from his mistakes, and wasn't afraid to take chances. That last trait was both a pro and con, but if developed right would allow Gesan to learn that much more on his own as well as from Ossir.

When they had been assigned to help guard the town, Ossir had volunteered them for guarding the eastern "gate". The town had no walls around it, but the soldiers had hidden ditches filled with propped-up spears and covered with light grass-woven mats and dirt to hide them. Only three narrow areas, one at the northern side, one on the western, and the last on the east provided anyone with a safe route into and out of the town. Two soldiers at each "gate," as they were being called would hide themselves amongst the buildings there to assure that no unwanted visitors tried to get in while at the same time not giving away where the gates were. Ossir had seen it as a prime opportunity to work with Gesan on secrecy and stealth, as well as patience, when this stranger had come staggering up. The lesson would have to change now.

Grabbing an unlit torch, Ossir motioned to Gesan to stay were he was. Then he moved from their hiding place and held the torch to one hung outside the door of the building whose shadows they'd been using to hide. When it caught flame he unsheathed his sword.

"What are you doing?"

Ossir turned back to were Gesan was crouched, a confused expression on his face. "Well we can't leave him out there."

"Do you think he's still alive?" Gesan looked pointedly at Ossir's battered yet well-kept sword, his close companion of many years.

Ossir shrugged. "Personally, I would say no. He dropped pretty quickly, and the fact that he hasn't moved or made any noise has me thinking that something was wrong with him to begin with. From the way you shot at him I think you got him in the major artery in one of his legs, so he's probably bled to death by now. Still…."

A dark look came to his face as he thought of the alternative. "I've seen many enemies play dead to get people off their guard and a couple of my friends were killed that way, so it pays to be prepared for anything."

Gesan nodded and ducked back down to hide again. As Ossir turned away he saw in the corner of his eye the boy pull an arrow from his quiver and knock it, ready to draw back and shoot if the supposedly dead man sprang up and attacked his friend. Ossir didn't object. Having someone to guard your back if something went wrong was a welcome thing. Walking towards the fallen stranger then pushed all thoughts of his trainee to the back of his mind as his instincts and years of experience took over.

Once he was close enough, Ossir began to appraise the figure before him. He lay on his stomach; face obscured by the tangled heap of long blond hair that had fallen over it when he fell. Ossir could only see his arms from the elbows up; further reason to think the man was still alive and would attack. His clothing was definitely Haradric, but seemed to be ill fitting of his long, lean frame. The only weapons the soldier could see were a bow case, a quiver with an arrow bag which he couldn't tell was how full, and two small pouches that probably held knives in them.

Ossir stopped a few feet from the body. To his surprise, he saw its ribs heave as it took in shallow, labored breaths. So it—he—was alive.

Not taking any chances, the soldier carefully wedged the tip of his sword underneath the person's ribcage. With the flat of the blade he levered the body up onto its side, the quiver and bow case propping it up and preventing it from rolling onto its back. The head lolled around to rest on the ground; the heap of hair still obscured its facial features. Ossir could now also see the rope that wound around the stranger's arms and torso.

Setting his sword down so that it was still in easy reach, the aged veteran reached out and picked up the man's head. His guard lessened a bit more, the person before him was definitely not of the desert. Haradrim, for one thing, did not have blond hair, and his skin was far too fair for someone who spent there days underneath the strong southern sun. What Ossir found the most disconcerting, however, was that the being was glowing. It was only a soft, pale shimmer, but it was there. Ossir reached out and brushed aside the thick mane of hair, revealing the man's fair features, features that did not quite look human. He took note of the deep gash on the being's left eye, and the trail of blood that flowed down the side of his face and neck, staining some of his hair. "Who are you?" he wondered out loud. "Or should I say 'what' are you?"

He absently tucked the man's hair behind his ear to keep it out of the way and almost dropped him in surprise. The ear was pointed. Ossir swore as sudden understanding hit him. This was no man, this was an elf. How had an elf come to be wearing Haradrim robes, be tied up in the manner of a Haradrim prisoner, yet still be walking alone and wearing his weapons in the dead of night?

All reserve gone Ossir set about removing the elf's pack so he could lay him flat and get a better assessment of his condition. His skin was hot and clammy, and his pulse was fast and erratic. Ossir growled in disgust as he pulled a knife from his belt and cut the rope encircling the elf's chest, rolling him partway on his stomach so he could cut free his arms and hands. How this elf had gotten into such a state was a question he definitely wanted an answer to.

It took him a couple of minutes of careful work before the rope finally fell away altogether. Whoever tied the knots certainly had enthusiasm, and he had to be careful not to cut the skin. The elf's hands were tinged purple and swollen from lack of blood flow, and the old soldier could see the cuts and abrasions on his wrists. Apparently the fair being hadn't acquiesced to wearing the restraints without a fight.

He turned the elf back over and carefully set him down again. As soon as his back touched the cold ground, he began to shiver. Ossir cursed himself for his stupidity, and quickly shed his own cloak to wrap around the stranger. Whoever he was, he needed to be taken somewhere warm. Staying out here in the cold was definitely not beneficial to his condition.

A flash of lightning split the sky, racing from cloud to cloud directly overhead. A terrific explosion of sound simultaneously followed it. The storm was finally letting loose its pent-up fury. Ossir sheathed his sword and slung the elf's weapons onto his back.

The arrow Gesan had hit him with had broken when the elf had fallen, so he wrapped a piece of cloth torn from his cloak around it to staunch the bleeding. He noticed when he touched the elf's leg that there was something off about the way it was positioned. He couldn't be sure, but something about it reminded him about the way his leg had looked the time he had fallen out of a tree. It had been dislocated at the hip, and he remembered how misshapen it had looked before it had finally been repositioned. This elf could have suffered a similar injury. If so it would have to be treated quickly to prevent nerve damage and possible paralysis, but not here. It and the fair being's other wounds would have to wait until he got him into better surroundings before they could be treated.

As he slipped his hands underneath him, the immortal's eyes snapped open and he gave a convulsive cough. Ossir stopped trying to lift him and placed his hands firmly on both sides of his head to hold him relatively still and keep him from aggravating his injuries.

"Shh, easy now, you're safe," Ossir spoke soothingly, trying to calm the elf as he moaned in pain and tried to twist away from him. Dazed blue-grey eyes fixed their gaze on him, and he found himself saddened to see them filled with pain.

"Who…." The elf tried to speak but was cut off as another wave of nausea hit him, causing him to tense and swallow repeatedly to keep down the contents of his stomach.

"I am Ossir, a soldier of Gondor. I'm trying to help you if you'd hold still." As he spoke Ossir released his new charge's head and once again prepared to lift the being. The elf realized what he was doing and once again tried to twist away. Ossir cursed as his balance was offset and he fell partially to the side to avoid falling on the immortal.

"Excuse me, just what is your problem?" he turned an indignant glare on the elf, which for all the pain he was in still managed to meet it.

"Where are we?" the elf asked instead of answering.

At that moment the heavens decided to open up and both were instantly soaked by the downpour as lightning crashed around them again. Ossir ground his teeth in annoyance, both at being soaked and at being delayed from trying to get them both somewhere where they were at far less risk of being struck by lightning.

"What is your name?" he asked a question of his own. If he was going to spend a prolonged amount of time out her with this person, he might as well be able to call him something other than "elf" or "you".

"Legolas," the elf sighed, closing his eyes. The toxins in his system had worsened, and he found himself becoming strangely lethargic.

Something about that name tickled the back of the soldier's memory, but he gave it little thought. The elf's sudden relaxed manner worried him. A moment ago he had been as taught as a bowstring and in obvious pain. Now he simply lay there as if someone had given him a sleeping draught. Ossir shook him roughly, refusing to let up until the golden-haired being opened his eyes and fixed him with an impassive, yet curious gaze.

"What happened to you?" Before he could decide if he should even be letting the elf drift off he needed to know what was wrong with him. Some conditions could be made worse if the patient was allowed sleep, and Ossir did not want to be responsible for any complications that could be prevented.

"Haradrim caught me…in their camp. Tied me...I wouldn't tell them anything. Locked me in…large chest. There were scorpions in it. They stung me…several times…" by now Legolas was having difficulty staying lucid enough to answer Ossir's question. When he opened his eyes the world was nothing more than a blur of dim colors sliding back and forth across his vision. All he wanted to do was close his eyes against the nauseating sight and give in to the calm oblivion that beckoned him to return.

Ossir swore as understanding and alarm swept through him. He had spent a good fifteen years of his life on the southern borders. The natural dangers of that region were nothing new to him. How to avoid and counteract such things as quicksand, scorpions, and heatstroke were skills that everyone on border detail learned sooner or later, preferably sooner.

Legolas had begun to fade from consciousness, and Ossir shook him again, growling. "No you don't, boy. Not if you want at least a decent chance to live."

When the elf's eyes fixed on him, he wasted no time in trying to pry more information from him. "What kind of scorpions were they? Did you see what they looked like?"

Legolas shook his head, trying to remember. "I don't know what kind they were." He thought back to when he had finally gotten out of that cramped death-box. A couple of the creatures had scuttled off of him when he had started writhing out of the hole. A few others had climbed back into the trunk when they had come into contact with the cooler air of the outside. He had been too relieved at being out of the box to really pay them much mind.

Ossir grabbed his shoulders and lifted him partway off the ground, rattling him. Their faces were inches apart, and at such close proximity the prince could better make out the features of the man grilling him. "It doesn't matter if you don't know what they were; just tell me what they looked like!"

Legolas winced, a headache had begun to pound in his temples, and this man's loud voice did nothing but aid it in making him more miserable than he already was. He searched his memory again, but it was clouded by the pain that was taking over and in his condition the battle was not one he could win. "I don't know," he whispered softly in defeat.

This did not sit well with the soldier of Gondor. He wanted to help the elf but if he didn't know what kind of scorpions he had encountered he wouldn't know how to treat him. There were four breeds of scorpion that were hardy enough to risk bringing north. The rest wouldn't last long enough to be worth the effort.

One was the Tree Scorpion, who only lived in oasis near cold-water sources. Another was the Box Scorpion, named for its robust appearance and the box-like nests it built. It too, was only found in oasis. More dangerous than those two was the Cobra Scorpion. That feisty little terror earned its fame by refusing to hunt or eat anything other than cobras and occasionally the odd rattler. Several tribes had adopted the image of the Cobra Scorpion as a symbol of fearlessness and bravery in battle, in turn making any reward marked by it a high and rare honor.

These three however paled in comparison with the fourth and by far most feared of the bunch—the Night Scorpion. Sleek, fast, jet-black, and nasty as all get out, the 'Night' was something only fools took lightly. While the 'Cobra' was a symbol of honor, the Night Scorpion symbolized fear, deception, and intimidation. It was an emblem of evil, and it lived up to its bad reputation, attacking any living creature that came too close, and causing more deaths per year than any other desert creatures combined. It alone of all the scorpion species had the ability to sting a creature while standing on it, and while there was an anti-toxin, it had to be administered within two hours or the victim would not survive. If they even survived that long.

Not only that, but the Night Scorpion actually enjoyed cold weather, coming out at night when temperatures in the desert dropped drastically and bordered on freezing. Ossir was beginning to suspect it had been Nights that Legolas had encountered. He was showing all the classic symptoms, but then again the soldier had never seen an elf with a scorpion sting. For all he knew they could have a completely different reaction to it.

He had been stung by a Night Scorpion once. Not a pleasant experience by any standard. The sting itself had been pale with orange spots contained by a bruised circle that spread out as the toxin worked its way through the blood stream. When touched the area within the circle would seem to cave in on itself. The longer the toxin remained the more time it would take the flesh to raise itself back up again. In the worst cases it stayed caved in, a permanent reminder of the foul beast. Even if Legolas didn't know what had gotten him, the bite might give him all the identification he needed.

Ossir placed both hands on the prince's neck, thumbs holding the sides of his face firmly so he would be forced to look at the soldier. Legolas gazed at him with tired eyes. He was fading fast, and Ossir was beginning to fear the worst. He didn't know why, but something in him insisted that this elf could not be allowed to die. Locking eyes with the fair being, he spoke slowly and forcefully, making sure the elf heard every word.

"Where were you stung?"

Legolas heard him as if from a distance. His ears felt cottony and he was having trouble focusing on anything. His throat felt swollen and sore, and it took him a few tries before he was able to rasp out.

"Chest… arm… leg…"

Ossir blanched upon hearing that the elf had been stung multiple times. As if once wasn't bad enough. Still he wasted no time in checking them out. The four possible species he was faced with didn't get along, so there was no chance of having to deal with more than one. Ripping open Legolas' tunic, he searched for the bites.

Even with the torch having gone out from the rain, the lightning gave him all the light he needed to find them. Two were high on his chest near his collarbone, about an inch apart. Obviously they had come from the same creature. Lightning flashed again and he caught a glimpse of two dark circles surrounding pale, dead-looking flesh. A few small spots of a different color mottled the areas. With sinking hope he probed both of them, shaking his head as the flesh easily collapsed and formed twin concaves. It was a Night Scorpion sting, and from the looks of it had been inflicted almost two hours ago. Not too late for the anti-toxin to be effective, but not enough time to find any.

He sat back, gazing at the elf sadly. Legolas looked back at him, still awake, but far too still and relaxed. Tears brimmed in Ossir's eyes despite his efforts to will them away. He remembered the very first time he had been allowed to go hunting with his father. He had been ten. Overeager, hyper, and lacking any real self control, he had spotted a deer and shot it before his father had even gotten a good look at it. When he realized his mistake it was already too late. The doe lay there on the forest floor, an arrow in one of her lungs.

He remembered walking up to her, she had been so relaxed, so peaceful-looking, so calm. His father examined her even though he knew it was of no use. She was dying. He had sat there next to her, looking into those eyes that were so bright and expressive. Eyes that held no reproach as they clouded over and her labored breathing ceased altogether.

He felt warm streams of water slide down his face, mixing with the cold rain. It wasn't fair. The doe wasn't meant to die all those years ago. She was supposed to go on, not be cut down by some reckless person, just like this elf. He was meant to go on, away from this land and live forever in peace. He didn't even know Legolas yet the knowledge was still cutting his heart out as he watched the elf's eyes become even more distant and his breathing even shallower.

That doe had been meant for a greater purpose, and he had ruined it. Even all these years later he still felt guilty over it, and the incident had forever ruined his love of hunting as a sport, so he had retired to hunting only as he needed to stay alive. Now he was being forced to watch as fate dealt a similar cruel twist. _'No!'_ his mind berated him. _'There has to be something you're overlooking. Think!'_

Desperately he wracked his mind. He'd seen several cases where Haradrim had used Night Scorpions against their prisoners. The scorpions were usually kept in a large chest or crate, large enough to throw a person in. The Southrons wouldn't be so stupid as to take the animals out of the chest, they were too nasty. Instead the crate was opened and the person thrown in as fast as possible. The scorpions could move with speed that some witnesses claimed would impress even a Mearas. Though the soldiers raced to get the lid closed again at least one scorpion often managed to get out. Consequentially it was not uncommon for someone other than the prisoner to get stung.

Ossir's eyes widened as a glimmer of hope returned. Because of the danger involved in keeping the creatures, the Haradrim kept anti-venom near the chest in case one of them got stung. He didn't know how Legolas had managed to get away from the southerners, but he had managed to get out with his weapons. Could it be possible that he might have heard the Southrons mention the serum and found a way to take it with him?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Ossir was tempted to laugh out loud at himself. The chances of the elf taking the anti-venom with him while bound were considerably small, so small as to be absurd. It was a miracle the elf had even gotten his weapons out. One look at them spoke of their high quality and exquisite make. That the Haradrim commander had not taken them for his own was a surprise.

Something serious must have happened for him not only to neglect taking the weapons, but also pass on staying and listening to the elf panic as the scorpions attacked him, something some Southrons found highly amusing for reasons no one in Gondor had ever been able to figure out.

Still it was the fair being's last and only chance. One look at him told Ossir he didn't have much time, and he knew Legolas was too far-gone to tell him anything.

Turning away from the elf, he grabbed the prince's pack and cursed as his fingers fumbled slightly when he tried to open it. Throwing back the flap he rummaged through the contents. A second later his hand brushed against something hard and cold. Pulling it out his jaw almost dropped in surprise. It was a glass bottle of Haradrim make. Removing the cap he took a sniff of the liquid inside.

Not wanting to believe it yet not wasting any time he scooted back over to Legolas' prone form. Lifting the immortal into a sitting position he gently pried open his mouth and poured the anti-venom into it, emptying the entire bottle. As soon as the last drop fell in he closed the elf's mouth and tipped his head so the liquid fell to the back of his throat.

Legolas reflexively gagged, his body trying to cough the liquid up, but Ossir held his mouth shut, effectively forcing the fair being to swallow. It was not enough anti-venom to cure a case as far developed as this one, but it would ensure that he had enough time to retrieve more.

The old soldier sighed and shivered from more than the cold. That had been close. A few more minutes and none but the Valar would have been able to help Legolas. How he had managed to get the anti-venom was another mystery Ossir would question him on when he was well enough, but for now it was time to get them both out of the storm. Both were completely drenched and mud-covered, and Legolas was beginning to slip back into a high fever, his earlier one having gone down as his poisoning had progressed into its last stages and started to shut his body down.

Once again Ossir slung the elf's weapons and pack onto his shoulder, and slipped his hands underneath the prince. This time Legolas was unconscious, so he couldn't try to move away. The soldier rose with the elf held tight against him, fearful that in the dark he might slip in the mud and drop his precious burden, and carefully he made his way back to the gate and the building he had left Gesan hiding next to.

The youth hadn't moved since his senior had left. He had kept an arrow knocked loosely to his bow, ready to draw back and let fly if it seemed like his friend was in trouble. He had watched as Ossir had tried to pick up the stranger and then fall back and let the person go. After that the rain had begun to fall, and in a few moments he was hard-pressed to see anything except whenever the lightning flashed.

Sudden light briefly illuminated his surroundings again, and he saw Ossir standing cloak-less and facing him, a limp figure in his arms. The world snapped back into darkness and he once again waited for the next flash.

When it came a minute later Ossir was only a few yards from him. Part of him wanted to race over and see who it was his superior carried. But sense and training prevailed at the last second, bidding him stay and wait for Ossir to come to him.

It seemed to him to take several more minutes, though truly it could not have been more than seconds, before he saw his mentor step out into the faint circle of light the lantern offered. Gesan rose, but dared not step from the shadows that concealed him until Ossir confirmed it was safe to, that there was no one around who shouldn't know he was there.

Ossir seemed almost lost from where he stood, looking as though he had several places to be and not sure which to go to first. He remained undecided as he would first lean as if to go one way, and then stop and look another way. Gesan stayed as he knew he should, but when he realized that it would take the older man some time to come to a decision on his own and acknowledge him, he decided to speed up the process.

Glancing around, he made at least an effort considering the rapidly deteriorating weather conditions to determine if they were alone. He gave it up after a brief scrutiny. Even with the lightning's aid from time to time he was still unable to get a clear view of anything. Striding out into the flickering lamplight that seemed ready to go out at any second, he reached out and lightly touched Ossir's arm.

The older man started and looked at him as if he knew not why he was there.

"Sir?" Gesan kept his voice quiet, unsure if using a louder voice would startle him. His fears turned out to be unfounded, however, for Ossir gave his head a minute shake, and came back to himself, startling his young protégé instead.

"Gesan," he snapped, his voice urgent and his tone one that would broker no nonsense, "you will stay here and guard this gate until someone comes to relieve you. I have to get him somewhere where I can heal him." He nodded his head towards the motionless person in his arms.

"Is he a Southron?" Gesan ventured to ask before his superior could walk away.

Ossir's voice was clipped and tense, as if under strain, which confused Gesan because the figure he held could not have weighed any more than the one who carried him. If one went by appearances, anyway.

No, Gesan, he is not a Southron. But what he is and who's side he is on will not matter for if not taken where his injuries can be repaired I seriously doubt he will live out the hour."

With that Ossir whirled around and strode away as quickly as he could without running. True, the elf needed aid as quickly as he could get it, but it would only aggravate the immortal's other wounds and draw unwanted attention. Getting his comrades all worked up by running about like a madman with a person in his arms would be far less than productive. If anything he would like to keep Legolas' presence in the town relatively quiet for the time being. As it were though, he was more concerned about the poison still in the immortal's system.

The anti-venom he had given Legolas would keep the elf alive for now, but if he couldn't neutralize the rest he would ultimately still die. The problem was how to get more. No one carried scorpion anti-venom this far north except, of course, the people across the river who kept the arachnids. There were other methods that would purge the toxins from the blood, but the elf would have to be stable and his other injuries looked after first before they attempted any of them.

Turning a corner and avoiding the dim light cast by a streetlamp, he hurried towards a moderate sized building. It was the only tavern in Linhinenet, called Day's End, for it was where most of the town could be found after a hard day's work out in the fields. He and the other soldiers stationed in the town occupied several of its rooms.

Ossir burst through the door and rushed past the startled tavern owner. Due to the curfew there was no one else there except one other soldier who doubled as the company's healer.

He raced up the stairs as smoothly as he could, taking them two at a time. "Hapsen, I need you now!" he called.

Dashing into the room he shared with Gesan and another, he cast his cloak off the stricken elf and lowered the being gently down onto his bed at the far side of the room.

Hapsen, a wirey man who could only be described as jittery when he wasn't healing someone or fighting an enemy, raced in, catching himself with both hands on either side of the doorframe. "What is it?"

"An elf. He came wandering in at the east gate. Gesan thought he was a southerner and shot him in the leg. He's also got Night scorpion poisoning and possibly a dislocated hip," Ossir's voice was calm but still conveyed urgency. If Legolas were to survive he needed to be stabilized and treated as fast as was humanely possible, or the demonic critters from the desert would claim the life of another victim.

Behind him he heard Hapsen whirl around and race back down the hall to his own room. He returned moments later with his bag of medical supplies. Cheman, the tavern owner, walked in behind him, walking on his toes and weaving his head back and forth, trying to see over the taller healer's shoulder what was going on.

Ossir didn't want any more people around than needed to be, so he took the opportunity to carry out his promise to Gesan. The weather was getting fouler by the minute and he really didn't want the boy out there by himself.

"Master Cheman, I am indeed sorry to have rushed in here in the manner I did but we have a warrior in need of our healer's care. I don't mean to inconvenience you, but I was wondering if you could take a message to our sergeant for me. I would be willing to pay you for it," he eloquently placed an arm around the tavern keeper's shoulder, steering him away from the elf and back towards the door.

Cheman looked disgusted at having to go out of his warm dwelling and into such cold and inconvenient weather, but at the same time could not seem to help pricking his ears up at the mention of being paid for it. He only made a moderate sum off the local farmers, and already catering to the soldiers had earned him more than he typically made in a month. The prospect of adding to that made the errand seem much more inviting.

"Aye, Master Ossir, I'll deliver your message. But it'll cost you three silvers."

Ossir nodded and scratched out a note, which he gave to the shorter man, along with one of the requested silver pieces. "You'll get the rest when you return," he said.

Cheman didn't look thrilled, but nevertheless left the room and headed down the stairs. Less than a minute later the grating creak of the front door could be heard as it opened and closed.

Ossir shook his head and rubbed his fingers over his temples, thankful the innkeeper could be so easily diverted. The aging soldier did not like Cheman. There was something about the man he couldn't bring himself to consider without becoming suspicious. There was something more than just greed that made him untrustworthy in Ossir's eyes. Untrustworthy unless he was paid to be trustworthy, that is.

But it was for more than just getting Gesan a replacement at his post that Ossir had sent him away. He didn't feel comfortable with Cheman being underfoot while they treated someone who was obviously not one of their own and he didn't want to chance the tavern owner taking advantage of the situation when Ossir was too preoccupied to stop him.

He returned in time to see Hapsen measuring out a length of thread made from catgut, the kind typically used to stitch wounds closed. Hapsen looked up at him and nodded towards the fireplace. "Stoke up the flames, Ossir. We'll need them to be nice and hot and this room's a bit too chilly for my liking."

Ossir nodded and set to work coaxing the flames to greater heat while Hapsen retrieved the basin of water from the night stand next to one of the other beds him and placed it on the floor next to him. He took the towel it had been sitting next to and began to wash the dirt and grime out of the gash at the corner of Legolas' eye. When that was done he ran one of his smaller needles through the flame of the candle he was using to see better and stitched it painstakingly closed so it would heal right and not caused the elf problems when he opened and closed his eye.

Ossir retrieved more water and a small kettle and put it over the fire to boil. While it did he and Hapsen set to work removing the wet armor and desert clothing, replacing it with dry garments of Hapsen's, which fit Legolas' slender form better than Ossir's would have. Legolas remained silent and motionless until Hapsen began to examine his injured hip. He moaned and shifted away as the pain radiating from the joint increased when it was moved and prodded.

Hapsen sighed. "It's dislocated alright. I can tell just by looking at the way its angled wrong. You say he walked here?"

Ossir nodded an affirmative. "Staggered and weaved like a drunk man with blood loss, but yes, he did."

The younger healer shook his head, and reached for a syringe out of his bag. "I'm inclined not to believe you. Wounds like these should have brought him down long before he got to the town, especially if he came here from the Haradrim's camp, and people with dislocated hips typically can't walk."

As he spoke he mixed some potent-smelling herbs into the now boiled water Ossir retrieved for him. He then added some oil from a flower called Maidens eyes, turning it into a sort of weak syrup. Filling the syringe with it he pushed the plunger down minutely to ensure the needle wasn't blocked. It worked perfectly and he promptly plunged it into the elf's hip, injecting the substance directly into the injured area.

Ossir winced, not envying Legolas in the slightest. The firstborn was fortunate he was asleep. Those hollow needles could only be made so small, and being pierced by them wasn't pleasant at all. Fortunately there were few who possessed and actively used them. According to Gesan, the fewer healers capable of torturing patients with them, the better. Ossir was in some ways inclined to agree, but knowing the advantages of such devices made him a bit more tolerant of them, especially since he would never hear the end of it were Almeran to find out he was afraid of a 'little' shot.

Hapsen raised an eyebrow. "You think he would be better off if I didn't give him that?"

"No," Ossir replied, "I just think you could make more of an effort to make it look more like an instrument of healing and not one of torture."

"People are far too preoccupied with what a thing looks like; they should be more concerned about what its purpose is," Hapsen snorted. He then leaned over and prodded again at the dislocated joint. "It's working; let's get the leg repositioned while that relaxant's at its strongest."

Ossir nodded in agreement. "How do you want me to hold him? Should we keep him on his back or prop him up on his side?"

Hapsen evaluated the way the dislocation was angled. The femur seemed to have been forced outwards and back, keeping the leg slightly bent and twisted inwards. Nine out of ten hip dislocations were like that. It would be easier to relocate the leg if his patient wasn't lying flat.

"Prop him up," he ordered. Ossir complied, moving next to Legolas and leaning his entire upper body on the elf's arm and ribs to ensure he would stay absolutely still. The healer kneeled on the firstborn's good leg, and hooked his left arm around the injured one. Using his right hand as a guide to make sure the femur went back in completely, he pulled the leg as hard as he could down and out, rotating it as he went. Legolas spasmed, and Ossir found himself hard pressed to keep him still. Hapsen was straining to keep the joint extended long enough to straighten it. After a few moments where he thought it wouldn't move as he wanted, he felt the bone shift, and snap back into the socket.

The healer examined the hip to see that the joint had gone in properly. Satisfied that it had he looked at Ossir and barked out, "Get me a splint."

Ossir was leaning against Legolas arm, panting from the exertion of having to hold him motionless. Having only worked with humans he hadn't expected someone in as bad a condition as the elf was to have that much strength.

Hapsen, on the other hand, simply used it as a signal that they better finish up as quickly as possible. There was no way he wanted to have to reset the leg if Legolas moved again. "Ossir, unless you want to have to hold him down again then get me a splint!"

The tired soldier pushed himself off the bed and forced himself to jog down the hall, where he found the supplies to make a hip splint. He came back into the room and helped Hapsen put it together and bind it to Legolas' thigh and torso, rendering his leg completely immobile.

"Now the fun begins," Hapsen muttered as he grabbed some herbs and premixed powders. The water in the kettle had come to a full boil while they were splinting their unusual charge's hip. Ossir watched as he mixed and measured the concoction. Every so often he would taste it, making adjustments here and there as he needed to. It took him almost an hour, during which Gesan returned. Ossir heard the boy come bounding up the stairs and intercepted him at the top. He set the young soldier to mopping Legolas' brow with cool water. The elf's fever had returned and Ossir worried that if they didn't get the antitoxin into him soon that all their efforts would be for naught.

Gesan was fascinated at the being he found himself suddenly caring for. He'd hoped when he had joined Gondor's armed forces that he would get to meet one of the Elders someday. Now he was actually face to face with one and he couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive. The stories he heard from others about the elves were conflicting more often than not so he wasn't really sure what to believe.

Some people said that elves could walk on snow and only leave the barest of footprints if they left any at all. Others said that an elf's eyes were made of solidified fire, and that if you looked into them for any length of time they would pierce your soul like lightning and slay you right out. Since Gesan had shot this particular elf, he especially wasn't eager to test that theory out.

The rag over the elf's brow had become warm, and Gesan cooled it down in the bowl of water he balanced in his lap and returned it to the fair creature's forehead. Ossir told him the elf's name was Legolas. The young man wondered what it meant in elvish, if it meant anything at all.

A small sound behind him made him start and whirl around. The bowl slipped as its resting place shifted. Gesan's hands shot out to catch it before it fell, but he was a split second too late and water splattered everywhere.

"Clumsy boy, try to be more careful," Hapsen said. In his hands he held a couple of syringes.

Gesan winced. He hated those things. They were torture devices designed by the Nine Wraiths as far as he was concerned. He turned his eyes away while Hapsen drew both syringes full of blood from the Legolas' arm. The healer then bound a small square of cloth over the area to stop the bleeding.

"Be sure to clean that up before it soaks into the floorboards and makes everyone slip," he muttered over his shoulder as he walked back to the acrid-smelling concoction Ossir was stirring.

"Yes, sir," Gesan replied, trying to keep his voice sounding at least somewhat like that of an adult and not a frightened child, which was what he felt like whenever he was around Hapsen. Healers in general made him nervous, but Hapsen was the worst of the lot that he'd ever encountered.

Gesan got up and walked over to the washstand were he knew he would find a dry towel to clean up the mess. He knelt down on the floor and swept it back and forth, dabbing up the water as best he could.

"Ouch."

Gesan got up so fast he forgot where he was and hit his head on the nightstand. He sat back on his heels for a moment, rubbing his head and feeling more than a little annoyed for being so clumsy for the second time in less than ten minuets while in Hapsen's presence. Fortunately, the short-tempered healer and his mentor were too busy trying to get their concoction right to pay him much mind at the moment.

"Are you alright?"

That same voice he'd heard a moment before made him forget about his sore cranium and lunge at the bed next to him. Pained but vibrant grey-blue eyes gazed back at him as if intrigued at his presence. For a moment he felt ensnared by those eyes, so ancient and young at the same time. It was as if those eyes could look straight into his soul and know everything there was to know about him, yet they held such peace he found himself too fascinated by them to look away.

_'Straight into my soul…' _Gesan then remembered just what kind of creature owned those eyes and he jerked his head to the side, not turning away completely, but definitely not meeting those hypnotic death traps again.

Legolas felt horrible. He was hot, every part of him ached, and his stomach seemed to have decided to become either an acrobat or a contortionist. His arm felt as if someone had tried to suck the veins out of it, and strange band wrapped around his chest and abdomen, restricting his slightly heaving lungs. The spots where the scorpions had stung him burned, making him consider that perhaps their tails had some acid in them in addition to the poison.

Still, all of this seemed to fade as he locked eyes with a very startled teenager wearing the uniform of a soldier of Gondor. The youth simply stared at him for a moment, and then looked away as if he'd been frightened anew.

Legolas cocked his head to the side. He knew some people got nervous when confronted with the gaze of an elf, but they usually didn't act as if totally amazed at first and then frightened out of their wits. Usually it was either one or the other.

"What…?" he croaked, as a wave of nausea prevented him from saying any more.

The boy kept his eyes glued to the quilt, not showing any indication of looking up any time soon. "How are you feeling?" he responded.

"Not as well as I usually do," Legolas answered. The boy's behavior confused him. He was acting as though he expected the elf to attack him at any moment, hunkering down and keeping his eyes averted like a dog that knew it was about to be beaten for doing something wrong.

The young man didn't respond, instead he turned away from the elf completely and addressed some people who apparently also occupied the room. It was testament to just how lousy Legolas was feeling that he hadn't noticed them. "Ossir? Hapsen? Legolas is awake."

"Not now, boy!"

"Please don't bother us right now Gesan."

The boy, Gesan as his name apparently was, sighed and bowed his head again. Legolas tried a different tactic.

"Are you scared of me?"

That got Gesan to turn around, but not to look at him. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then why don't you look at me?"

"Won't I be slain if I do?" Gesan asked.

Legolas had never heard of anything so absurd in his life. The kid thought he would die if he looked at him? That would explain why he kept his eyes averted, but not why he would think such a thing.

The elvin prince was about to ask where it was that the boy had gotten the idea, when the poisons he had forgotten were in his system decided to remind him of their presence. His nausea increased tenfold, while he seemed to loose all control over his body. His mind slammed back into an all-terrifying haze as he was caught in the throes of a full-fledged seizure. He wanted to scream in pain but his voice refused to work.

"Ossir, Hapsen, help!"

Dimly Legolas heard Gesan scream for his two companions as his head was involuntarily whipped around and his back jackknifed. Someone grabbed onto his arms and threw their weight onto him to try and hold him down. Then he felt a sharp pain similar to the one that had first woken him in his upper arm, and everything faded completely into ebony nothingness.

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Aswad Sem was avoided by all as he and three men from his troop made their way toward the main tent. The conference he'd had with the captain had not gone well, and anyone with half a brain knew it was best to stay away at all costs. The three he had ordered to accompany him strode along behind him, making sure to keep back a few paces.

Of all the people in the camp it had to be him to be told to risk his life getting that elvin spy out of the scorpion box. The spy himself had intrigued the lieutenant for no other reason than that he was an elf. Aswad had never met an elf before tonight, though he had heard some fantastic stories from traders. Most of those stories he disregarded upon hearing because they were simply too outrageous to be true. Others he thought were true but greatly exaggerated. Now he found himself reweighing them in his mind. Perhaps some of them weren't exaggerated.

Still, his curiosity wasn't keen enough that he would open up a case filled with Night Scorpions to idly chat with the being about his race. Anyone he threw in with those miniature demons he preferred to leave there, or let someone else retrieve.

Aswad Sem shivered as a cold wind kicked up and cursed the northern weather. In the last hour the temperature had dropped suddenly. And some were whispering about the possibility of the phenomenon called 'snow' that they had heard tell of on occasion. Snow was supposed to be so cold it could make your hand feel as though it burned if you touched it long enough. As for himself Aswad wanted nothing to do with it.

He wanted to be given permission to take his men and deliver the documents the spy had tried to steal to their allies who were planning to attack Gondor from the mountains separating it from Mordor in the north. At least Mordor he'd heard was warmer. A bit foul smelling, perhaps but not likely in any way to freeze one to death, unlike their current position.

His captain, however, had refused. According to him he was needed to interrogate the prisoner. Since he was sharp enough to spot him, he would probably be sharp enough to discern truth from lie when they finally got him to talk.

_'Stupid creature. I'd be halfway out of here by now if it hadn't been for him.'_

Aswad didn't know if he was referring to the elf or his captain. _'Both,'_ he decided. _'I have no desire to serve under someone who decided that delivering top-secret documents through enemy territory required a hundred men. And why is an elf sneaking through our camp? I have heard that Elessar is friends with them, but I have also heard the elves were supposed to be leaving for somewhere. Some magic place or something they can live in peace in where humans can't go.' _

Aswad shook his head. Who knew why that elf had decided to help the Gondorians? It certainly didn't matter know. As he and his men reached the tent he yanked the flap aside and entered. The others followed only to grunt in surprise as they ran into one another in an attempt not to bump into their leader, who had stopped short.

Their protests were cut short when Aswad pointed to the ground in front of them.

A Night Scorpion sat there, and Aswad could have sworn it was glaring at them for intruding. Turning his head slowly he spotted two more on the tent walls, another in the far corner, and a fifth on top of the chest that was their former prison.

While his companions quaked in fear behind him, Aswad stared back at it with an almost cat-like interest. He moved forward a step, despite the alarmed gasp one of his men uttered. The scorpion clacked its pincers and leaned back on its slender legs. Its message was clear: any more moves from him and it would strike. A grin came unbidden to his face.

Schooling his features back to impassiveness he turned to the three terrified men behind him. "What do you want us to do sir?" one asked.

Aswad took a knife from his belt, one of about two dozen he kept on his person at all times. "I'll take care of them, you leave."

All three nodded and left without argument. Aswad Sem was notorious throughout Harad as being the best knife fighter and thrower ever known. When he drew his blades, no one with any intelligence stayed around. It was in part because of his skills that he never rose any higher in the ranks than a lieutenant. That and his vicious, oft bloodthirsty nature. In the opinions of his superiors, he was invaluable as an assassin and fighter, someone they'd rather have do the work than direct it. They didn't trust him not to try and get rid of them and take over, and not a one of them was brave enough to try and gain total dominance over him. They were afraid of him, and he knew it.

As soon as they left Aswad returned his gaze to the menacing little creature. It was amazing how vicious and efficient so small a creature was at causing such fear, and death. That was something he planned to use, now that the elf had given him that opportunity. As for the elf he no longer cared. The being was gone, and whether he survived or not Aswad didn't care. He had bigger fish to hook.

Drawing back his knife he aimed and let fly. But instead of being struck by the blade, the scorpion collapsed when it was hit by the pommel. Not wasting any time Aswad grabbed one of the smaller chests and threw it open. Then he proceeded to do what most people considered to be incredibly stupid and impossible. He picked the scorpion up.

Grabbing it by the tail, which wouldn't do much good if it woke up since its claws could easily take off more than a few fingers; he stuffed it into the chest. The rest he killed, impaling them all in quick succession. Then he retrieved his knives and left the tent, the box and the collected bodies of the dead scorpions tucked under his arm. As he walked back to his tent he admired them maliciously.

They really were such beautiful creatures, and like him were without contest the best at what they did.

Nature's perfect killers.

TBC….

**Well now, did everyone enjoy that? I'm not going to set an actual date for my next update because mid-terms are starting (at least one of mine is) and depending on how busy they make me I could either find myself with enough time to write in the next chapter within the next couple of weeks, or with no time at all and you'll just have to extend your patience. /hides under computer desk behind her Pomeranian while rotten food is thrown at her/ Thanks guys, now I'll have to go bathe her again. /calls out to food-covered dog/ Sorry Fox! Anyway, I have homework to do so I'll leave you with your review responses, thank you so much to everyone who sent them. **

**And remember, that one review got this chappy out weeks sooner than it would have been. So please, send 'em! They really are not in vain.**

**Review Responses:**

**Deana: Ah, yes.**** Poor Legolas. I'm afraid he didn't fair much better in this chapter, but I need him to be fit for the upcoming fight and (possible spoiler) kidnapping, um, steward-napping, whatever you want to call it, shrugs so he'll be back to almost-normal soon. But not for long of course. /evil grin/ I can totally see why you abandoned Ardeth Bey for Legolas. Did you know that in the original, and I'm talking 1930's-40's, movie Imhotep disappeared for years after coming back to life, before re-appearing as a college professor or something like that named Ardeth Bey? I found that out by accident, and it kinda creeped me out, lol. But I still thought that was very inventive for the modern version to sneak that in like that. /G/ **

**Lindahoyland**** Careful you don't fall off your chair! That's painful. Thanks, it's good to know I'm getting Legolas' character right. Elves aren't always the easiest to portray, as I've found out, because they think and act so differently than we humans do. But once you've got them, they are loads of fun to work with. I don't know if this counts as a cliffy, but you will see a lot of them from me in the future, since as you said, they are fun (though annoying). Hopefully my schedule will lighten up so I can get more posted soon.**

**Setrinan**** Yeah, so far There and Back Again is my fave chappy. Yes, it was very tricky, and I relied a lot on the first chapter of Mercedes Lackey's book, The Black Gryphon for inspiration for getting the mood of it right. Lol, Legolas was rather unreluctant, but he was on a time-frame and did have a relative amount of information to go on from the Gondorian soldiers. I'm glad to hear it wasn't cheesy or uncharacteristic the way his thought patterns ran, that was one of the trickiest parts of all. The charcoal makeup was one of my favorite elements, along with his entire disguise. Lots of fun putting him in it, hehehe. And a smile to you to for the lovely review. :)**

**Kelsey Estel: Yes I am still alive, (barely). Sorry to keep you waiting but I'm glad you didn't give up on the story. I dedicate this chappy to you because without that review who knows how long it might have been before I got it out? It actually gave me a cure from muse deprivation syndrome! So thank you so much. And don't worry, Faramir will feel very guilty regarding Legolas by the end of this fic, but the reasons might be a little worse than you guessed. /evil grin/ I loved the scorpions too. I'm thinking about keeping them as pets to safeguard me from vengeful readers later on, lol. Very useful creatures, those scorpions. Too bad I'm arachnophobic.**

**/whistles/ Here reviews, reviews, reviews. Here reviews, reviews, reviews. Hahaha… they really need to make a sequel to that ****New York**** Godzilla film. /grin/**


	6. The Calm Before The Storm

**A/N:**** _/Creeps cautiously towards the computer/_ Is this thing going to let me update? It is? Yes! Hi guys, sorry about another two month delay, I swear it wasn't intentional. Here's the brief overview of reasons why I haven't updated since January (not that you want to hear them): School, State competition for BOCES, training and competing in horseshows, extreme stress, work, MAS, and other things I really can't think of right now. Anyway, some good things that have happened: this chapter is going up, I'm ahead of schedule working on future chapters, I have my own computer in my room so I can type without being kicked off because one of my sisters wants a turn or has a paper to write (doesn't have internet though, darn it), and my muse has been consistently showing up in the last few weeks. I'm also going to be starting a livejournal sometime within the next few days so I can keep you guys updated on my progress regarding future chapters, which is really all I need it for. Until I get it up all notices will be on my bio-page for those of you who haven't noticed already. Once it is up the link will be put under my e-mail on my bio. The only other thing I have to say before moving on is I'm now taking anonymous reviews (again for those of you who haven't read my bio recently, not that I can blame you for that. _/grin/_).**

**A/A/N:**** Anyone else out there who is as confused and annoyed as I am about the change in the rating system? I mean, come on! What was wrong with the old one? It was soo much better. _/pouts and glares at the screen/ _ffnet's determined to torture both authors _and_ readers, I swear!**

**A/A/A/N****: I'm 18! No more being a minor! My birthday was the 30th, another writing/posting delay. _/grins and ducks flying cakes/ _Okay, you can go enjoy the chapter now. Sheesh.**

**Disclaimer:**** Anything that's _not_ copyrighted by J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema is mine, everything that _is_ copyrightedby them I wish was mine. Got it?**

**Chapter 5: The Calm After The Storm**

(Tried to give you warning but everyone ignores me)  
Told you everything loud and clear  
(But nobody's listening)  
(Call to you so clearly but you don't want to hear me)  
Told you everything loud and clear  
(But nobody's listening)

"Nobody's Listening"—Linkin Park

Rain slapped down onto the tree branches and dripped unendingly onto the small lean-to. Inside it was far from being perfectly dry, but the skeletal-faced being sitting there found it adequate enough to suit his purposes and gave the cold and sodden ground no more than a second thought. In his lap lay an old tome. He muttered to himself as his eyes scanned the page, swiftly deciphering the runes as he had taught himself how to do years ago. His hand twitched in minute gestures as though memorizing some ritualistic pattern.

He had grown tired of waiting. Thanks to Faramir's spy, and the storm, the Haradrim were sending less than a dozen to go on with the documents the company was guarding to the mountains of Mordor, where he had heard the desert men were amassing an army powerful enough to take Gondor while she was still in a weakened state. The rest of the soldiers were to turn around and head back beyond Gondor's southern border, where they were to await further orders.

By the time the storm had cleared and the Gondorians were able to see across the Erui once more they would be gone, and with them his opportunity to blame on them the Steward's disappearance.

Now he would have to take matters into his own hands and make sure that regardless of how he took Faramir his men would be in enough shock and confusion to keep them reeling and staring into space for weeks, let alone try to rescue their precious captain.

He smiled sadistically to himself. There were more ways than one to skin a cat, and he intended to use all of them if it meant he would reach his goal, and he knew just where to start. Erd had said that the spy Faramir had sent was an elf. Only one elf had traveled with the company, according to the reports: the Fellowship's very own Legolas Greenleaf.

Pulling some blackroot and chameleon's breath from a pouch at his belt he held them underneath his nose and breathed in their combined smell. Then he slit the tip of his right forefinger with his left thumbnail and crumpled a bit of the dried herbs into the cut, making sure they were well mixed with his blood. He began speaking in an arcane and almost forgotten form of the black speech, repeating his earlier gestures only this time with far more drama and euphemism.

_"Och ar ekch le echrain.__ Och trech su arche. Och usf vec dezm. Ubo ihn erwq!"_

As the last foul word resonated from his teeth, his entire body began to shake as a rust-colored aura slipped and pulsated across the surface of his skin. Unkempt nails grew into claws, his fingers shrunk and bent themselves inwards, his back arched and his limbs warped. His ears became thin and triangular; moving to perch on top of his head while his skull lengthened and blunt human teeth became fangs. Part of his spine lengthened to form a long, sinuous tail.

Where once had sat a human there was instead a cat, its ginger-red fur the same color the man's hair had been. It's gaunt body and sunken eye sockets gave it the appearance that it was ready for the grave. But it was the eyes themselves that told a different story. A moldy greenish-blue, they were the kind that spawned fearful superstitions of creatures that were in league with those who practiced black and forbidden arts, and in truth belonged to Morgoth himself.

The feline stood and stretched itself out, as if accustoming itself with its own body. Then it spoke a few words, its voice not coming from its mouth, but seemingly out of thin air, though there was no mistaking its origin. The tent vibrated slightly, then stilled, not a drop of water or any of its contents out of place. The cat stepped out into the freezing cold rain, satisfied that no one would be able to enter while it was gone. Overhead it could see a small sparrow huddled against the trunk of the tree that upheld the lean-to, trying to keep as warm and dry as possible.

"Get down here, or loose thy wings bird."

The sparrow started and looked at the cat in surprise. Opening its beak as if to say something, it then seemed to reconsider and obediently fluttered sown to land in the watery mud, tensing to keep from grimacing at the feel of the icy slop in his feathers. "Yes, sir?"

"Get the others together," the cat hissed, "I will wait no longer. When I return I will give you your instructions. No one is o do anything until then."

"Understood, my lord. How long until we should expect your return?"

"When my errand is complete."

The look in the cat's eyes told the sparrow he was pushing it too far, so he nodded in understanding and took a step back that really could be counted as more of a hop, though the mud made him clumsy. The cat walked away into the darkness, and as soon as the small avian was sure he was gone he shook his wings out as best as he could and labored up into the air.

The feline lengthened his stride into a lope and easily dodged and wove his way through the woods until the lights of the town came into view. Carefully he circled it until he was certain he had found a place not riddled with traps. No traps meant sentries, but what sentries would care about a cat skulking around in the shadows?

Now his enhanced senses came into play, as he gained the buildings and climbed up onto the roofs, seeking the elusive smell he expected to find eventually. Erd had said the spy had made it as far as the town. Who was to say he hadn't made it _into_ the town?

It soon dawned on him that a more logical place to start would be a public building or stable where the soldiers would likely have taken up residence. _'Such as a tavern,'_ he thought when a building larger than the others came into view, a stable adjoining it. He leapt back down to the street, and trotted closer.

A sign bearing the name 'Day's End Tavern' swung and creaked in the wind, flinging water into the feline's eyes. He shook his head in annoyance and turned, trotting down the narrow alley between the tavern and the next building.

The cat jumped onto the ladder that served as an escape rout in case of fire and within moments found himself sitting on a windowsill outside one of the guest rooms. Digging his claws into the wood beneath his feet he used them as an anchor while he tried the window. If he had been a true cat it would have proven far too difficult, but human he was and human strength he had, and thus after a few minutes of straining and pulling it finally came free and jolted upwards with a horrific _CRACK_.

Fearful that someone might have heard it and would toss him out should they catch him he jumped onto the nearby bed and scurried underneath it as the sound of heavy boots coming down the hall caused the floorboards to shudder. The door creaked open and by the way it shook he could tell the person was frightened. While whoever it was took their time gathering enough wits to enter the dark space, he used the opportunity to shake the water from his coat and take off what remained with his sandpaper tongue. By the time he was through the human had left—he hadn't even the courage to call out if anyone was in the room let alone properly search it—and his coat had been given the first true grooming it had had in months. If he'd attempted it while in human form he would have had to cut all of his hair off for all the snags and tangles it sported.

Now he poked his head out to make sure the human had truly left and was not just playing some trick to get an intruder off his guard. No such person was in sight, so he padded over to the doorway. No one was in the hall either, but he could hear raised voices coming from behind one of the doors farther down.

"Sirs, I really must protest. These rooms are mine, though you may be using them, and I wish to know of all who stay here, and that includes him!"

"I understand your wish, Master Innkeeper, yet I must ask that you remain patient and allow us to introduce him to you at a later time, he is not well!"

"I understand that I cannot hold a conversation with him, but I still want to know who he is."

The cat's ears perked up with interest. Perhaps he had found that which he had sought in coming here. In fact he was certain of it. Slipping silently along and making sure to keep close to the wall he paused before peeking cautiously around the doorway and at the confrontation that was taking place before him.

Two humans, one obviously out of shape and the other looking as though he'd be one to watch out for in a fight stood barely a foot apart from one another. Each, well the fighter at least for the cat could not see the other's face, glared at each other and he could tell by their body language that they were daring one another to just try to make a move. Further back into the room a long-limbed youth and a grizzled man in an apron stood before one of the beds, as though trying to hide the occupant from view. This succeeded as far as the fat man, apparently the tavern owner, was concerned. The cat, however, was of completely different vantage point, and though he could not see much, he could see a slim form and a splash of gold hair.

It was all he needed to see to convince him that staying for the duration of the current events could well be worth his while.

"We have told you who he is. He is one of Faramir's warriors. Our comrade!"

The cat titled its head and swept back its ears, smirking. The soldier was loosing his patience.

"I wish for a name, Master Ossir, that's all. Then I will leave you to caring for him."

"That we cannot tell, for we have not met him before. We only know that he was sent by Faramir, and met ill luck along the way," the one called 'Ossir' grated out from between teeth clenched in frustration.

"I don't believe that. You're hiding something, and with the enemy practically at our doors, I am not going to tolerated such in my own tavern!" the fat man shouted.

_'Persistent one, he is,'_ thought the cat.

"Enough of this!" the grizzled man growled, striding forward and grabbing the tavern owner by the front of his tunic and apron and lifting him partway off the ground, bringing their faces so close together their noses almost touched.

The cat perked his ears up in interest. Things were heating up. Perhaps his suspicions were correct.

The tavern owner's face paled. The man holding him leaned forward. "You will wake up my patient, and that is exactly what he doesn't need. When he wakes you will learn his name and whatever else you are permitted to know, but _not_ until then!"

"No. If he wishes to know who I am then he shall, if it will put him at ease."

The fat one hit the floor hard as everyone turned and stared in shock at the flushed and slightly panting elf who was staring at them as if he wished they would just all disappear. To most of the humans he seemed unnaturally strong for one who was supposed to be so ill, but the cat and the man who had dropped the tavern owner could see his arms trembling from the strain of using energy to prop his body up that they didn't really have, especially with the hip brace pressed hard against his chest.

The elf returned their shocked stares with an irritated one of his own, letting his gaze travel full circle around the vicinity and rest on each human for a moment before moving on. The tavern owner and the youth, who was currently standing near the bed as a guard against any who might come near uninvited, both averted their eyes almost instantaneously. The other two soldiers managed to last a little longer, only Ossir really showing any signs of turning away should the firstborn continue to stare at him.

The red cat felt his eyes widen and his hackles rise when an immortal gaze fixed on him. Said immortal barely regarded him for a second before disregarding him, but there was no denying the potency of that stare should its owner decide to put it to its full potential. The feline tucked that bit of information into his mental archives for future use.

The elf in the meantime had apparently finished his scrutiny, or at least neglected to stare down the grizzled man, who apparently was the healer of the group, for too long. In a moment the man was at the injured warrior's side, pushing him back down lest he cause the splint strapped to his entire side to slip or come undone somehow. "Here now, that's enough out of you."

The patient resisted as much as he could, which wasn't much with the apparent illness his body combined with his restricted movement. Nevertheless he did manage to shake himself free of the other's grasp long enough to call out to the tavern owner.

"My name, if you desire to know, is Legolas Greenleaf of Southern Ithilien. And indeed I came to aid Faramir against the southerners who stand almost at your door."

At that declaration the cat could see fatigue begin to manifest in the immortal as the miniscule bit of energy he'd been able to call up ran out, and he sank back against the pillows, his eyes closed.

"Enough!" the healer shouted, thoroughly irritated that his patient had been disturbed. The cat could see the wince that crossed Legolas' face as the volume of the voice rose past what his sensitive ears were currently willing to deal with. The feline himself wasn't too comfortable with the level of sound either.

The elf's discomfort did not go unnoticed by Ossir either. "Shhhh," he made a calming gesture at his comrade before turning to the tavern keeper, who still had his eyes riveted on the pale figure lying on the bed, mouth hanging open in disbelief and a gasping sound coming from vocal chords that seemed to be not the least bit interested in working. Ossir fought back a smile as he took the man by the arm and began steering him towards the door.

The cat darted away from the door and headed back down the hall, glancing at doors along the way until he found the room he had broken into. A smirk, or what could pass for a smirk on the feline features, accompanied the low growl of laughter emanating unbidden from his throat. Oh it was too perfect! With the elf out of the way Faramir would be helpless, yet the self-same creature would still provide the perfect bait for his trap.

He jumped up onto the windowsill and paused before the still-open window, listening to Ossir trying to get some response out of the stunned innkeeper, imploring him to be coherent long enough to agree not to speak of Legolas to anyone.

Another idea began to tempt his mind with its sweet and promising fragrance. The innkeeper may have been absolutely floored at the revelation that his inn housed one of the 'legendary' firstborn, but before that little detail had been revealed he had been actually _conniving_, to a certain extent at least. He would be an easy one to buy off and manipulate, and suppose he lead Faramir into the trap? It would be very convenient and save the cat the trouble of having to risk one of his own warriors. The cat cared not enough to mourn loosing one of his 'men', but he was no fool. Faramir may love poetry and music more than the sword, but when threatened he was no one to be taken lightly. And if he were trying to protect his comrades….he'd be even more difficult to subdue. It was best he save his forces for the struggle rather than risk early detection.

That having been decided, the feline leapt out the window and a few hops later gained the ground. Wasting no time he trotted around the building seeking the servants' entrance.

A crash and a few muffled curses drove him into the safety of a pile of crates. Climbing to the top of the heap he gazed down at the cause of the commotion, a sweaty man throwing objects, apparently potatoes, at a small, scrawny-looking boy. "An next time stay away from mah food, ya good for nothing….."

The cat quirked an eyebrow at the colorful language and the boy's failure to be impressed by it. Then it simply faded from his interest as the realization that he'd found his desired entrance struck him and he darted down from his perch and through the door before the irate and overzealous human could notice him.

* * *

Legolas tried to ignore the condescending tirade the human fusing over him assaulted him with, to no avail he had to grudgingly admit. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the reeling in his stomach, or the pounding ache in his temples, the more persistent and prevailing that voice became.

"When I say enough I mean _enough_! You have no _idea_ just how much energy and effort I had to put into saving your sorry elvish hide. You think making a gallon of anti-venom in less than an hour with only the bit I was able to glean out of your blood is easy! Guess again! Most people would call it impossible, yet I go and do it all the same. And when all I want is a little cooperation on your part in return, you outright begin struggling! Of all the irresponsible, tone-deaf, thick skulled, lousy excuse of a patient I could have had…"

"That…is…enough…Human," Legolas ground out of his teeth, holding his head tightly as he did so to ensure it did not up and explode unbidden on him.

"…I had to get you," he finished. Legolas tried to growl a warning at him to keep his tone down and his mouth shut whenever possible, and found himself wishing he could just pass out again when all he managed was a weak and absolutely unimpressive mewl.

"Ha!" the secondborn snorted in response. "You didn't listen to me when I said it, so why should I listen to you?"

Legolas was in too much pain to come up with any kind of witty comeback. When he had first awoken to the argument taking place between the tavern owner and the soldiers who apparently had taken it upon themselves to nurse him back to health, he was simply sound sensitive and achy and wanted to put an end to the noise. Since then he had quickly become light sensitive and nauseous as well. He began rocking himself unconsciously, not caring at the moment that there was anyone else around to see, groaning against the pain.

Hapsen's features softened. As mad as disobedient patients made him, he wasn't anywhere near cruel enough to continue lecturing one while he was experiencing a soon-to-be full-blown migraine. Shaking his head he walked over to the pot of water still simmering in the hot ashes next to the fire. Picking up a mug left over from his anti-venom making he checked it over to ensure it didn't have any ingredient residue in it before filling it with the warm liquid. Dropping a bit of chalky, white powder from his medicine bag into it he let it disintegrate before moving to sit beside the elf, pulling his hands away from his head.

Hapsen held the mug under his patient's nose, his other hand coming around to cup the back of his head when he tried to turn away. "Shh, take it," he urged, "I promise it won't make you sick. It will ease the pain and help you to sleep; that's really the best thing anyone can do for a headache like that."

Legolas normally would have fought like a wildcat at the thought of being drugged, and by a stranger no less! The only ones he really trusted enough to willingly submit to being drugged by was Aragorn and his adopted family, or his own father. He remembered one time when he was injured on a hunting trip his father being called to sit with him while he was forced to remain in the healing wing of the palace for a few days because he had refused to be drugged and had sent three master healers to their own peers to be treated for broken bones and misaligned necks and backs as a result of his struggling. This time though, he was too far gone with this—headache—to fight back, he just wanted to be released from his current torment. The light hurt, sound hurt, moving hurt, not moving hurt, and if he had anything in his stomach it would be on the floor by now or all over himself.

Forcing his mouth to open and allow the concoction admittance, he swallowed it down slowly, relieved when it didn't make his stomach react.

Hapsen nodded once in approval and helped the elf to lie back as gently as he could, tucking the quilts around him. He turned away and tiptoed towards the door, grabbing the youth who had been observing the whole thing from the fireplace and dragging him out of the room with him. "Hey—umfff!"

"Hush! He's all but unconscious now and that's not going to be long in coming." Hapsen spared on last glance inside at the room's occupant. He would probably be more comfortable if the fire was out and he could have complete darkness but that could not be helped as the healer would not risk him getting chilled.

"But shouldn't someone stay with him?" Gesan asked.

"No," Hapsen pushed the boy away and closed the door. "What he needs is to be left alone so he can sleep that migraine off. Now shouldn't you be getting some sleep right about now?"

"Why?" Gesan asked. "SHHH!" the older healer hissed.

Gesan lowered his voice. "Why? I mean, I'll just have to be getting up in a little while for my morning shift anyway."

Hapsen snorted. "It's almost evening, boy. That storm was bad enough that we never saw daylight; it was almost dawn when it started. Granted, we were all too busy to consider it, but honestly, what night lasts that long?"

Gesan started. "Almost evening? But why didn't they send someone to make us take our shifts at the gate?"

"Like I said, we were busy, and Ossir sent a note with Cheman saying that we were all needed here to take care of our unexpected guest there," he pointed a finger at the elf's door. "Now, I suggest you go get some rest, tomorrow it's back to normal shifts for us all, and Faramir is going to have to be notified that one of his troop is here, no doubt they're missing him by now."

Gesan nodded and went in the direction of his own room at the opposite end of the hall, nodding in affirmation of the other soldier's hiss of "And go quietly!"

Hapsen felt a great urge to slam his head into the wall and then throw one of his scalpels at the teenager when he tripped on a loose board and went flying headfirst into the wood, sending up a crash that could take the entire building down. Gesan picked himself up and spared a glance over his shoulder, deciding that running—silently of course—and hiding in his room for the next few days would be a far better health policy than trying to apologize to the look of pure contempt and murder that was currently burning his back to ashes.

Hapsen considered looking in and seeing if the elf was even still alive after a noise like that, but decided against it and went to the room he shared with Ossir.

The inn only had so many rooms, since the town was small and hardly got any visitors, but at the same time they didn't see any reason to fill them all in case they were needed to hold wounded later on, so those who were willing were asked to double or triple up in the rooms big enough to accommodate it. Gesan was at that awkward age where he needed a bit of space from people hanging over him all the time, so he had been put in a small room only fit to hold one. Most of the others elected to stay in the stables instead of having to worry about their gear being in the way when every second counted.

It was logical and appreciated, as was Ossir's offer that he and the kid stay close in case he needed help. Ossir and he had worked together long enough that the other soldier was practically a healer himself, and held preference over everyone else in their troop when he had need of an assistant.

Ossir quirked an eyebrow when he entered. "What was all the noise about?"

"That kid of yours tripped and fell, just after I got done telling him to be quiet so that elf can sleep." Hapsen glared in annoyance.

"Stuff like that happens. I tripped over the same board when we first came here, and Cheman was in such a daze after he found out that he's housing an elf that he almost went headfirst down the stairs. It's a common menace if you ask me."

Hapsen could have laughed at the mental image of the fat tavern owner going ass over teakettle down a flight of stairs, but his irritation at the boy for possibly tormenting his patient overshadowed it. No one was allowed to do that but him, as their friend Almeran once put it, even though he couldn't for the life of him see how healing a person could be considered torture.

The other soldier could see he wasn't getting anywhere with cheering him up, so he decided to switch topics instead. "How is Legolas anyway?"

"He's got a migraine. It's a common enough side-effect to the scorpion poisoning that I gave him a mild sedative and painkillers. That's really the best I can do. Best thing for him is to sleep it off."

Ossir winced. He'd had migraines in the past and he could sympathize with the agony the elf must be in. Damn things kept him down typically for about two days if not more, hopefully with the elf it wouldn't be that long.

"How is Cheman with the whole subject? Think he'll be trouble?" Hapsen asked.

"I'm inclined to think not, so long as we pay him the extra he wants for taking in an elven guest."

Hapsen sneered in contempt. "Scum."

Ossir nodded in agreement. "Definitely. Now if you don't mind I'm going to get some sleep. Should we take shifts watching Legolas?"

"No, let him be. That sedative will keep him out for a while. I doubt he'll be getting up before we do," Hapsen yawned.

His friend nodded and rolled over on his bed, exhaustion claiming him in moments. Hapsen laid down on his own and closed his eyes, lulled by his friend's light snores.

* * *

Faramir wasn't sure if he should be worried yet or not. The storm clouds kept anyone from seeing the setting sun, but he knew it was there, slipping beneath the horizon as it would in an endless cycle until the end of the world.

He looked up at the sound of tent material being pushed aside. It was Faron, the Lieutenant who had escorted them into the camp yesterday. The younger officer saluted him, then stood at ease when told by the Prince of Ithilien.

"Lord Legolas has not yet returned sir, and the sun is setting. Should we send others after him?" he asked.

Faramir sighed, shaking his head. "No. If they discovered him they will be all the more on the alert, it's too risky. We will wait a little longer, it may be that he was delayed, and knowing elves he has enough patience to stay in the same spot for a month."

"Very well sir," Faron said, trying not to laugh and cause himself embarrassment in front of the Steward, though he could not deny that he found the thought highly improbable as well as amusing.

"Come back at midnight if he has not returned, we will need to plan a new course of action if that be the case." Faramir turned away and made a motion with his hand, dismissing the soldier. "You may go."

"Yes sir," Faron bowed, then left the tent.

Faramir sighed again, then looked at the roof of the tent above him. "I hope it doesn't come to that," he whispered to himself.

* * *

Legolas slowly became aware of his surroundings again as the drugs in his system wore off and his elven healing abilities finally broke the migraine that had made him feel almost worse than the scorpion venom had. His eyes opened, and he grimaced at the fact that he had slept with them closed. The room was dark with the exception of the small glow of the embers in the fireplace. The humans had left as well, though Legolas could sense that they were near. Looking around, he could see some tools and bandages left behind by the healer that had drugged him, and his own pack and weapons, even his Haradrim disguise piled on a chair in the corner.

Placing the heels of his hands on either side of him he tried to push himself up into a sitting position, only to be stopped by the brace that ran up the entire length of his leg and ribs. Unfazed he let himself sink back again and began working the ties of the cloth strips that held the contraption to his ribs. Once those were undone he again tried sitting up, stopping for a moment when he was fully upright as his head buzzed and vision swam in protest. After that had passed he carefully eased both legs over the side of the bed, no small feat with the brace in the way and his body telling him plainly that it wasn't fully well yet and that he was being far too hasty.

_"I can rest later,"_ he thought. _"First I have to get back to Faramir and tell him what's going on. All I need to do is find the stables and borrow a horse."_

Finally gaining his feet, the elf paused a moment to make sure he wouldn't fall over before making his way easily towards his pack and weapons, the dim light all that he really needed to avoid tripping over things. He opened the flap and drew out his clothes. He was grateful to the soldiers for lending him something dry, but hated the coarse human-made cloth, wanting only to be back in his own elvish clothing again. At the bottom of his pack his fingers brushed up against cool metal. Frowning he removed the item and inspected it, brows unfurrowing as he realized that he held the scale-armor Almeran had given him. Another trip into the pack and his hand returned with the fox-head helmet as well.

While he put on his own garb he debated what he would do with them. The desert clothing he had no desire to take with him, though he would probably give it to Faramir in case, Valar forbid, they ever had need of it again. In the end he decided to wear the pauldrons and coat, and carry the helmet in his bag, no need to wear it if he didn't have to. But in case Faramir wanted to use the cover of night to make a move, he didn't want to have to take the time to put on armor later when he would probably need to rest and make sure he had as much energy recovered as he could for when they made their move.

As he fixed the second pauldron to his shoulder, he noticed a piece of folded paper on the ground almost underneath the chair. Curious, he bent down and retrieved it, moving near the almost dead fire to read what was written on it.

"Huh!" he gasped, eyes widening.

TBC…

**AN: Okay, I'm going to be really evil and finish it right there simply for the sake of getting something posted. This chapter is pathetically short compared to my others but at least it's better than nothing, right? _/picks up large umbrella to shield herself from rain of_ _flaming arrows/ _Well I'm sorry but it's the best I can do unless you'd rather wait another week-and-a-half or two since after this weekend is over I'll have no time to post or possibly even write anything until after the tenth. Fortunately for you that means that you get a chapter and a half worth of reading when next I post. And guess what? I actually have the outline for chapter 7 complete and the outline for chapter 8 started! YAY! Now don't go having a heart attack on me people, please! If you feel incredibly shocked, just keel over gently. Don't die though, Chapter 7 will be here soon enough to bring you out of it; or real life will. Whichever gets there first. _/grins/_ Since I still have a lot of work to do so that my mom doesn't kill me and say I got nothing done today, here's the review responses, and a big thanks once again for Kelsey Estel's reminder of just how late I was in getting this half-a-chapter out. You rock girl!**

**Once again a review saves the day! They really work to get me going and to cure me from my frequent Muse Abandonment Syndrome (MAS), so the more I get the faster I write and the more I make sure I get time to write. So send 'em, please? **

**Review Responses:**

**Kelsey Estel: Once again you saved the day girl! Kudos to you, you have my permission to yell at me whenever I go over my due date for future chaps, though hopefully once fourth quarter starts my schedule will lighten up so that I won't have to keep making people wait so long. Yea, famous last words, huh? Well Aswad was supposed to be in this chapter so you would have had more of a chance to study his character but that didn't work out so you'll see lots of him next time around. Faramir was supposed to find out about him as well but again the question of _"To post or not to post"_ had to be answered. This whole fic will be a bit of a guilt trip for our Steward (when he's coherent enough to worry about stuff like that _/evil grin/_) but the real guilt will not come until the end _/coughsequelcough/_. Sorry, choked on some lemonade there. Anyway, I hate needles to, though not as much anymore since I'm a pre-vet tech student and my class had to go to a farm to round up and vaccinate cattle and the needles were absolutely huge! Poor things. Glad I don't have to get stuck with anything that big. Anyway I'm glad you're sticking with the story and I absolutely loved your last review. Legolas fangirls putting colored ribbons in Faramir's hair? ROTFL, that is SOO going on my list of top ten LOTR torture methods of all time! You devious, evil person! I may have to come to you for torture ideas later.**

**Setrinan****: Glad you liked Gesan. So far he's shaping up to be the OC favorite of the fic. _/grin/_ I like him too, he's a lot of fun to write. Yes, Legolas has been found by the good guys, but beware! Looks can be deceiving! Someone should really tell our pretty elf boy that, as well as everyone else actually. Such advice will come in very handy before long. Good to know you approve of my dialogue, that's one of the things I'm always unsure of, whether or not I've kept it characteristic of each person. Aswad is another element that's** **challenging me, and I'm loving every minute of it. He's so devious and interesting. Originally I wasn't going to have a knife fight between him and Legolas, just taunt the two of them with it but have them clash in other ways. Which they still will! Only now that you've mentioned it I've realized just how much I want to see them fight so I'm going to make sure they get at least one in there. **

**Deana: YES, I posted! And hurray I've posted again! Somehow I'll get this fic done before I have to go to college, that I will. Hope you didn't get too discouraged waiting for me. **

**Elenhin****: I thank thee for thy kind words, good reviewer. _/sweeps off imaginary_ _hat and bows/_ I hope thee has remained eager, for this fic is nowhere near over yet, so enjoy! Okay that was a really bad attempt at Shakespearean, but enjoy the update anyway. _/grin/_ **

**Star-Stallion: Yes, the scorpions are lovely aren't they? I would love to put my story on your website. You're going to laugh, but I never even heard of PM-ing someone until trying to send you the info for it. My friend said she'd show me how, but she never got the chance, so if you could send me instructions I'll send you the story info asap. I couldn't find an e-mail address for you so I left a review on one of you stories saying this but I don't know if you got it or not, so don't think I forgot, because I didn't, and it really flatters me that you like my story that much. _/does victory dance/_ And yes, sadly, Faramir is going to have his wings clipped for a while, but don't think that he'll be out of commission and useless the whole time, he still has a major part to play.**

**Flowerbee1: I've got you hooked? Yay, now to reel you in for more. Hope you enjoyed this one, despite it being length challenged. _/grin/_ Don't worry, Faramir will come out alright, just can't say when though. _/evilgrin/_**

**Lindahoyland****: Thanks, glad you liked them too. **

**Wantanelf****: Nice to have you on board. I love it when I find a story that I can't put down, I hope I didn't put you through too much withdrawl. _/hides under desk/_ I'm so ashamed. Love your name, by the way. Are you a Chinese food addict like I am?**

**Katquest2000: Thanks. Here's your update! **

**Ok guys, I got to go now but don't worry, my outline's already written so all I gotta do is put it up on my computer. Reviews keep me going faster and I LOVE the feedback, so review! Please? _/gives Puss in Boots eyes/_**


	7. Before the Storm, Part II

**A/N****: YES! Yesyesyesyesyes! I finally managed to post within a month of my last update! _(readers stare in disbelief)_ I'm soo proud of myself right now. RL and high school have made it very difficult, but here it is, the part of the last chapter you didn't get to read. Well, most of it anyway. **

**Oh, and my livejournal is up (not that I've written in it in favor of finishing this chappy for you, _(grin)_) and I've got an important question to pose that is going to greatly effect future updates. I'm leaving it up to you readers to vote if I should have shorter chapters (10-12 pages, approx.) and more frequent updates, or longer chapters (25-30 pages, approx.) and less frequent updates. My reasons for this will be put up on my journal hopefully tomorrow and you can put your votes up there. Obviously you don't have to vote but I'd appreciate it simply because I'm at a loss on which to choose so I'm going to let the readers decide what they want.**

**OK, I'm not going to torture you with anymore of my random ramblings. Vive le fic! (_really_ bad French _(cringe)_)**

**Disclaimer****: I don't own Lord of the Rings (happy, you copyright Nazis?) For more details, see the prologue. **

****

**Before the Storm, Part II:**

Legolas couldn't believe it. When the Haradrim lieutenant had searched him and taken the documents he thought they had gotten the all. Apparently he'd been wrong. Here in his hands was the diagram of the camp he had found in one of the chests, the one paper of importance that hadn't been with the rest in the satchels. Looking at it now, it was way too thick for a single piece of parchment.

He threw another log on to the fire and stoked it, increasing the light so he could examine it now that he had the chance.

He unfolded it and began turning it over in his hands. The abnormal thickness was almost a sure sign that there was more than one document adhered together. Throw in the fact that they considered it important enough to sentence him to a slow death by scorpion venom all but confirmed in his mind that they had stumbled across something bigger than they originally anticipated, something that was definitely not in Gondor's best interest.

The night before they had left Minas Tirith, Legolas had snuck down to the library after the others had gone to sleep and had done some reading on the desert men and how they dealt with spies and intruders in general, and other little things like how they interacted with their superiors. Basically anything he hadn't been able to observe during the Ring War, which when he thought about it was actually a lot. He had come across a very interesting little paragraph about how the Southrons typically slew intruders and spies outright unless they thought they might have information that could be of use to them. The only time they ever sentenced a spy to a slow death was to make an example of him to his own side, which had not been the case in his experience, or if he had taken something of exceptional value or done something incredible heinous. This was doubly true for soldiers on the move.

Legolas was certain that the documents he had tried to take had far more to them, and the fact that the enemy was carting around a man-sized box of scorpions proved it.

Thumbing the corner of the parchment he thought he saw another layer peel back for a moment. Retrieving a knife from his quiver, he carefully used the edge to do the same as his thumb held the corner back slightly. Two pieces of parchment began to peel away from one another. The elf forced himself not to get excited and to continue to separate them slowly.

In the end he was paid off as four parchments came away from one another, but the excitement was short-lived.

With the exception of the one on top, the one the map was drawn on, there was nothing on them. Holding them in front of the fire yielded no hidden writing. Legolas huffed softly in frustration. If there was a moon out he would have tested them for moon-letters, but of course tonight was night of the new moon, so that idea was useless. Even if there was a moon he highly doubted the Haradrim knew how to create moon-letters anyway.

Aragorn might know a way to get the hidden writings to show themselves. If not him, then Gandalf or Elrond, the latter of the two was on the other side of the Misty Mountains where he belonged with his people, but Legolas was sure the Lord of Rivendell would not hesitate to come to his foster son's aid if the need was dire enough, and it most likely was. Legolas couldn't pin-point it, but looking at those parchments gave him a sick feeling in his gut. They weren't blank; every logical part of his mind was screaming at him that they couldn't be, not after everything that had happened. Something else was going on here.

He decided to go back and look at the camp diagram again. Something about it struck a chord in his memory, as if he had seen it before.

It showed row upon row of small blackened squares, some with hollow squares around them. The squares were divided by a dark line running down the center, and the border of the paper showed jagged lines sweeping off the paper, as if its maker wanted to show a sharp incline of land. Where the dark line ran off the paper at the top and bottom, these jagged marks stopped. Altogether it looked like some roughly circular setup, with small spears drawn to reveal guard posts.

Legolas could have sworn he had seen something like it before, but where? For a good half an hour he studied the page, wondering if it gave any clues as to where in Gondor or Harad there was a circle of hills with a stream running through it. Try as he might, though, he came up with nothing. The only thing he knew for sure was that these had to be taken to Gondor and put in Aragorn's safekeeping as soon as was physically possible, and the Haradrim had to be stopped from leaving. Looking at the map once more, a shiver raced up his spine, the exact same shiver he felt whenever he traveled near the Ephel Duath, the mountain range separating Gondor and Mordor.

He pushed the horrible feeling to the back of his mind. He had to get to Faramir and these documents had to be taken back to Minas Tirith. Faramir would probably have a few choice words to say about it, but as soon as he informed the Steward about the situation, he planned to take the papers to Aragon himself.

He carefully folded the papers and put them in a pocket sewn on the inner lining of his quiver. Gathering the rest of his belongings, he decided that he had lingered to long to take the time to leave a note. He'd find the soldiers who helped him and thank them personally later.

On feet that could walk silently on dry leaves even with the brace he had on his leg, he crept out of his room and down the hall. But of course the Valar, with their twisted sense of humor, decided that leaving wouldn't be that simple. As he passed on room near the edge of the stairs, he heard the door open and saw a youth step out, but thanks to the ever cursed brace and his injured hip, he had no way of dodging successfully.

"Ooff!"

"Oww!"

"What the—AHHHH!"

Legolas winced, not at all happy to be assaulted not only by another person and the floor, but a loud scream as well, one that may not have woken the dead, but certainly woke the two men in the adjoining room.

"Gesan, are you alright?"

"What in the Void are you doing up, Elf!"

Legolas glared up at the two men standing over him. "I'm trying to walk down the stairs, if you don't mind. As much as I appreciate your kindness, there are things of great importance I must discus with Faramir."

He pushed the dazed youth—Gesan, apparently—off of him, and tried to stand. Unfortunately, the leg brace kept getting in the way.

Ossir came forward and helped Gesan to his feet, then reached for the wounded firstborn. "You're crazy if you think you're going anywhere. I doubt you could even get on a horse let alone ride all the way back to the main camp."

"I have to," Legolas gritted his teeth as his hip protested the sudden regiment of activity it was being put through. "Gondor's in more danger than we first though. He has to attack the Haradrim and stop any further activity from them now. I also managed to get some documents out of the camp that have to be gotten back to Aragorn as soon as possible."

"So let someone else take them," Hapsen growled. "You're staying here until your leg is strong enough to support you without that brace."

"I'm fine!"

The healer snorted. "Like the Void you are! Now back to bed. And what's with all this armor? You weren't planning on going into battle were you?"

Legolas sighed in frustration. "Before I realized what those documents were, I put it on in the event that Faramir asked for my aid in the attack."

Gesan looked at the elf in bewilderment. "You mean you were planning on taking the papers all the way back to the city even with your leg like that?"

Legolas looked at the boy, who promptly found the floor very interesting to look at. "Yes, I was. I'm the fastest rider here," he said. He frowned. Why was the boy so afraid to look at him?

"No, you're not."

All three turned to look at Ossir, who was studying the elf, appraising his condition. "I have no doubt that you're stubborn enough to get to the King, even in your condition. I've seen enough evidence of that already. But if these documents you say you found are really that important, then how can you be sure you can keep them safe along the way? The Southrons, unless they're very stupid, probably searched their camp after they found you. Am I right in saying that they caught you spying in their camp and caused those injuries?"

Legolas nodded.

Ossir wasted no time in continuing before the elf could say anything. "Be that the case they most likely know you have those papers. How can you be sure they haven't had some of their men sneak out of the camp and set up ambushes for anyone trying to leave? In your condition you can't fight them and get the papers back to the King. It's one or the other. Besides, you look too conspicuous, they'd see you and pick you off before you even had a chance to fight or try to run."

Legolas, as much as he wanted to, couldn't argue with that line of logic. The desert papers were too important, in his opinion. "Then pray tell what you suggest be done Master…?"

"Ossir," the man replied, then introduced Hapsen and Gesan. "As to what I recommend, well first I would say that you need to get back to bed and stop beating up on that leg while it's trying to heal itself."

He ignored the scowl the elf sent him for even hinting that he didn't know what was best for his injuries. "As far as the papers go, let Gesan take them."

"Me!" Gesan all but squeaked. At the strange look this got him from both the other humans and the elf, he cleared his throat and tried to look at least somewhat more mature. "Why would you send me? I'm sure my riding skills are no match for his."

Ossir shrugged. "Maybe not, but you're the fastest out of everyone here and you have a better chance of slipping through any traps that might be out there. There's also the fact that you're not injured, so if you do get into trouble, you can defend yourself long enough to get out."

"Very well sir," Gesan said, albeit a bit uncertainly.

Legolas was more than a bit leery about entrusting what he considered his task to anyone else. Looking at the boy though, he couldn't help but like the lad. There was something about him that reminded him of days that in his eyes were not long gone, days when he would spend weeks on end with Aragorn, his brothers and sometimes the other Dunedain out in the wilds, racing, hunting; just enjoying life. His instincts told him this kid's heart was exactly the same, that of a ranger. He'd just been stuck in a city too long to know it. _'Well,'_ he thought, _'I guess I could trust_ _him, and Ossir is right.'_ He almost growled at that.

Retrieving the documents from his quiver, he handed them to the boy. "Tell the guards at the gates you have news of Linhinenet from Legolas Greenleaf, news that is for the king's ears alone. Give him the documents, and tell him that the blank ones I'm certain have a hidden message penned on them. The other I'm sure is a map of their main camp, and it's possible that it's in Gondor. He has to compare it with other maps to find out where it is. As to Linhinenet tell him we will be attacking the Haradrim. Before you ride to Minas Tirith I want you to stop in the main camp and tell Faramir that he has to attack the Haradrim and he cannot let any escape if he can avoid it. Tell him also to try and capture the leaders, they may have information we need."

Gesan nodded, digesting the elf's words and hoping he could remember it all. "I'll get my things and go now. " With that he whirled around and retreated back into his room. He emerged moments later with saddlebags, cloak and weapons. Ossir and Hapsen each hooked an arm around Legolas' waist, much to his annoyance, and began to lead him back to his room. Then his eyes lit up and he halted sharply, causing the two men to curse and nearly go off balance. "Gesan!" he called to the youth as he disappeared down the stairs.

"Yes, Legolas?" came back Gesan's disembodied voice.

"In the main camp there is a pale grey horse that goes without any harness. His name is Arod. When you get there leave your horse and take him instead. He is of Rohan stock and therefore of good heart and speed. He'll get you to Minas Tirith faster than any horse here can, and the guards there will recognize him. He may help you get to Elessar with less hindrance. When you approach him say _'Tollo Arod! Legolas requires you to assist me'_ and you will have his aid."

"Thank you, Legolas," the boy said, and Legolas paused again only to shout after him, "Take care of him, for he is a dear friend to me."

"I will!" came the reply, and then the young soldier bounded down the rest of the stairs and in minutes was out the door and heading for the stables.

"Now then, Elf," Hapsen growled. "If you are quite finished then I suggest you let us take you back to your room and this time you are going to say there."

"My name is not 'Elf'," Legolas growled back.

"It is if you don't obey me."

"Enough, both of you," Ossir sighed, "I refuse to listen to you two banter when I'm still sleep deprived. Hapsen, I thought you said that potion would keep him out longer than this."

"It was supposed to," Hapsen defended himself. By this time they had reached the elf's room, and the two helped Legolas over to his bed.

"Perhaps you should have mixed a dose suitable for an elf rather than a human then," Legolas couldn't help but quip.

"Perhaps you'd like to be poisoned again—"

"Enough!" Ossir had no desire to keep up with or listen to verbal banter at the moment. "You, act you age," he pointed at the healer, "and you," he pointed at Legolas, "armor off and into bed. Now!"

Neither argued with him.

* * *

Aswad Sem sat on his palate. With knife and skillful fingers he slit open the tails of each of the scorpions and drained the venom into a spare canteen he usually reserved for his enemies. Satisfied that he had enough, he added water and heathren root. It was not the variety of heathren root found in the deserts, but for a northern variety its characteristics were very similar and he was hoping its properties would be too.

Heathren root could not cure a poisoning, but it could keep whatever poison that was used dormant for a short while, making it very difficult to track a poison's origin. It also if put into a poisoned drink masked the poison's taste, if it had any, and made the victim even thirstier, leading them to drink more. Assassin' s Friend, it was known by in the south, for assassins like himself loved it. He loved it so long as it served his purpose.

The scorpion he had left living banged against the walls of its small prison. Aswad grimaced. If that thing drew any attention to his tent with its infernal grousing at being in a small space, he'd kill it, regardless of his plans for it. For now though his real concern was switching this canteen with his commander's. But once again, the elven spy had given him the perfect opportunity to pull this off and get rid of the old fool at last, something he was not about to pass up.

Making sure the cap was secured he attached the drinking vessel loosely to his belt and made certain it could be removed with little effort. He left his tent, and walked brusquely towards that of his superior.

He had noticed after his men had put the elf in the scorpion case that the most vital documents they had been escorting were gone, and had said nothing. He had no loyalties when it came to this group; let them all be killed by Elessar's men, for all he cared. He needed only to escape, and make his way north. Once he reached the main encampment, and told the officers there that a spy had infiltrated their camp and they had subsequently been wiped out. At that point he would whip out the remaining documents, and be praised for getting at least them there. That accomplished he could wipe them all out one by one until the Haradrim army was his.

He swept into the tent, ignoring his leader's protest. "Honored One, I have just discovered a distressing event. The spy from Gondor has escaped, and the map of our northern camp and the hidden messages with it are gone."

"What! How?"

"Elven witchcraft perhaps, for who knows for sure their tricky ways, or perhaps he has spied on our people before and rigged the scorpion case so he could escape if taken captive. Whatever the truth of the matter, I do not know, but I do know this: he has escaped, and the antivenom and papers are gone as well. I do not think it coincidence," Aswad kept his voice distressed, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. "Forgive me, Captain Rahjen."

Rahjen had been captain of his troop for years, and had during his career a good many seconds. Some of his lieutenants had gone on to be captains and been given command of their own troops, others had been killed either in battle or by circumstance, and a few had been reassigned. Only one had betrayed him, and Rahjen still felt the sting of that betrayal to this day. However even when the traitor had been found out, he had never felt the need to fear him, for he had suspected the treachery beforehand. This time he had reason to fear. Aswad Sem was regarded by most to have been bred to strike terror into the hearts of those he opposed, yet rarely could you tell just who those poor souls were until it was too late. If it were up to him, Rahjen would have gotten rid of Aswad a long time ago, but he had no proof to justify such an action, and he would not be so foolish as to give the others in his command reason to doubt him.

He sighed. He really was getting too old for this. If this campaign was a success he was seriously going to look into turning his command over to a younger captain and spend the rest of his days in retirement. At least if he retired he wouldn't have to deal with Aswad anymore. Some younger creature with a shrewder eye could. "Get the men together. We'll attack the gondorians tonight, and then we leave. Better that we show up with some of the papers than none at all."

"Yes Captain," Aswad bowed, and turned away. As he left he released the canteen at his side from his belt and in one move swept up Rahjen's, leaving the poisoned canteen in its place. A pouch with false documents that he'd prepared earlier replaced the one with the real documents, and he was gone into the night. Once his final orders were carried out, he had every intention of being across the river and away from Linhinenet when the two forces clashed. Any survivors from his side he would hunt down later.

* * *

The cat meandered through the kitchen, ignoring the smell of human sweat, ash, smoke, and the odd assortment of vegetables and meats. Personally he would rather eat raw mice for the rest of his days than anything that came out of this kitchen. Fortunately he wasn't hungry to begin with,not that he would be after walking through this…..area. At the moment his concern was using the elf to get Faramir. First though he would have to get the Steward here. The owner of this despicable place could be of use in this area, he certainly was greedy enough. All the cat would have to do would be to offer the right price, and then not give it to him, a tactic he employed whenever he could get away with it. And judging by what he had seen thus far of his intended messenger, he could more than get away with it.

The ginger feline exited the kitchen and found himself behind the bar. Leaping up onto said bar, he began to approach the stupefied tavern owner where he sat trying to collect his wits.

The human seemed not to notice him, so he sat and was about to say something when the boy he had seen in the elf's room earlier came crashing down the stairs. The noise grabbed the innkeeper's attention, and he whirled around, startled. "What's going on!"

"Sorry Master Cheman, I've got a message to take to Lord Faramir from the elf, Legolas, and I have to go quickly. Sorry again to have disturbed you!" With that he was out the door, leaving a bewildered Cheman and an ecstatic shape shifter behind.

The cat couldn't believe his luck. He jumped down from the bar and raced up the stairs, ignoring the puzzled look on the tavern keeper's face as he wondered where the feline had come from and when he had ever gotten a cat in the first place. Forget the innkeeper, the kid could do it all for him! And he wouldn't even have to reveal himself to him! He thanked whatever gods were listening and streaked into the vacant room at the end of the hall and out the window that still hadn't been closed.

He practically flew out of town and back into the woods, dark magic lending him unnatural speed. The cat reached his camp and started screeching orders without even bothering to change back to his human state. Three large hawks he ordered to pick up his books and take them back to Amon Hen, releasing the spell of repulsion he had placed on the tent to keep others but himself out. A warg was commissioned to destroy the lean-to and any evidence that it had ever existed.

The thirty remaining wargs were divided into two groups. Twenty minutes later, fifteen dread-looking Haradrim warriors sat mounted on fifteen malicious-looking horses.

"Now listen, you are to capture the Steward, and no one else. I will drive him from the battle and make him ride for the town. You will know him from the scent of my will on him, and kill any that accompany him. I want him alive and as uninjured as possible, understand?"

Horses and riders alike nodded.

"Good. You will regret it if you forget that or fail me. Now go! The Southrons attack as we speak!" he growled.

As a group the horses turned and bounded off through the trees, back the way the cat had come. Any who saw them would swear they moved as canines rather than equines, and their riders looked ready to eat any that crossed them on sight.

"Erd, come!" The cat released his form and for a brief moment was human again. Reopening the cut on his finger he mixed blood with the same herbs as before, speaking a different incantation this time. Erd dove out of the boughs of an oak only to have to rise through the canopy again at the side of a red-headed black eagle.

* * *

Gesan barely pulled his gelding to a stop before dismounting. Flinging the reins around the nearest tethering line, he raced over to one of the soldiers demanding, "Where can I find Lord Faramir? I have urgent news from Lord Legolas."

"What news?" the soldier asked, eyeing him skeptically.

"News regarding the Haradrim, more than that I cannot say," Gesan replied.

The older man still looked doubtful, but said "Very well, I'll take you to him. But mark me there'll be trouble if you're lying."

"Trust me, I'm not"

The soldier shrugged and began walking. The youth followed close behind, silently willing him to move faster. "For your sake I hope so, son."

An interminable two minutes later they arrived at a tent that seemed not unlike the others around it. "Wait here," his escort said. Gesan nodded his agreement, and the man announced himself quickly before ducking inside. Gesan tried not to fidget and occupied himself with looking around to see if he could perhaps spot the stallion Legolas had told him to find instead.

His attention was brought back to the tent when he heard a throat clear, and the soldier who had led him there exited, saying "You can go in," before leaving to return to whatever he had been doing before the younger soldier had shown up.

Gesan swallowed quickly, gathering his nerves as he lifted the tent flap and entered. Inside two men sat on thin mats, apparently they had been in the middle of a discussion. The one to his right looked at him with a stern gaze and said, "Where is the elf? If this news is so important then why didn't he bring it himself?"

"Hush Mennel! Let the boy speak." Kind hazel eyes regarded him, "What news have you?"

Gesan bowed to his superiors, his eyes never leaving Faramir. "Lord Legolas bade me to tell you that he has uncovered evidence that has led him to believe the Haradrim a bigger threat than simply trespassing on Gondor's lands, my lord. He says you must attack them and let none escape to return to their leaders. In addition he bade that you capture the leaders of the group across the river in case they have any additional information that could be of use."

"And just how does he propose that we do this? By the time we get ourselves organized for an attack the Haradrim will have noticed and we will be at a disadvantage," Mennel growled, not pleased at the absence of the elven spy to begin with, and even more irked that he sent a boy with orders for them as well.

"I trust that Legolas has very good reasons if that is his advice," Faramir said in a quiet voice, "and we are not so unconditioned to war that we cannot prepare quickly and try to draw the enemy over to our side of the river so we will not have to contend with the waters. In fact Mennel, why don't you go find Beregond and the two of you set to work on organizing the men now? I'll finish with this young man since there's no need for both of us to question him at this point."

The officer grumbled something under his breath and rose, saluting the Steward and barely sparing Gesan a glance as he left.

"Now then," Faramir said, "where is Legolas anyway? Has something ill befallen him that has delayed his return?"

"He is currently in the care of my mentor, Ossir, and our company's healer, Hapsen my lord. Ossir and myself found him outside the town. I mistook him for an enemy soldier and shot him in the leg. He had been captured by the enemy and escaped, for he had a dislocated hip and was suffering from scorpion poisoning as well. Hapsen and Ossir treated him and he will be well as soon as his leg has had time to mend. He tried to come himself but Hapsen feared he was still too unstable."

Faramir had a concerned look in his eyes, but let a small smile turn up the corner of his lips as he imagined just what that scene must have looked like; Legolas unsteady on his feet and still trying to shrug off the healer and make his way to the stables. "I don't suppose you know anything about this evidence he has found."

"Actually I do," Gesan said softly.

Faramir's whole body suddenly seemed to come to attention. "You do? Tell me."

Gesan was a little uncertain. Legolas had said that this information was for the king only. But at the same time he wasn't going to disobey a direct order from the Steward either. "He found papers, my lord. One with a map of a camp on it, several more that were blank that he's sure have hidden messages on them. He gave them to me and told me to take them to the king once I had delivered his message to you."

"Let me see them," Farmir said, reaching a hand towards the boy.

Gesan hesitated a second before handing them over. Faramir studied them as best he could, and found he could make out no more than the elf had.

"Legolas was right to want these taken right to Aragorn. He and the librarians should be able to make something of them, and a battlefield's no safe place for documents such as these," he handed them back to the young man. "Take care of them, and get them to the city as quickly as possible. Knowing Legolas he told you to tell no one but Elessar about them, and if not then that's my orders to you. You can tell the guards that if they give you any problems."

"Yes my lord," Gesan bowed.

"Come then," Faramir said as he rose from his seat, and Gesan noticed that he was fully ready for battle, swords, chain mail and all, as if he had suspected that was the course of action he would have to take. The other officer, Mennel, had only had his sword with him, as if he didn't think he'd be seeing any action, or was hoping he wouldn't.

Faramir led him outside. "You should leave immediately, and go quickly."

"Yes, my lord," Gesan replied again. "Oh, my lord?"

"Yes?"

"Know you where I might find a light grey stallion by the name of Arod?"

Faramir regarded him quizzically. "Why would you be looking for Legolas' horse?"

Gesan blushed in embarrassment. He shouldn't have bothered the Steward with such a thing, but it had just come out. "Before I left Legolas said to seek him out when I got here. He said that Arod would be swifter than my own and seeing me on him might help convince the guards to let me pass with less hindrance."

Faramir didn't know what to think of that. "He must have seen something in you that he really likes, boy. Legolas treats that horse as if he was his son, and he's really choosy about who gets to handle the creature, let alone ride him."

"Then you know where he is?"

"Oh course. He's tethered next to my horse. Got real fussy when the men tried to tie him too, spoiled animal." Faramir smirked in amusement. "Come with me and I'll take you to him."

When Gesan first saw Arod he knew without a doubt that this was the horse Legolas spoke of. The equine tossed his finely chiseled head and pawed at the ground when he saw them approach. Never before had Gesan seen such a fine animal, nor one so spirited, except for the few glimpses he had gotten of the great horse Shadowfax one time when he was on stable duty during his training while Gandalf rode through the city on his way to visit the king. Suddenly he felt nervous. Not only was he here to see the horse, he was expected to ride him as well!

Faramir stepped back and looked at him expectantly. Gesan forced himself to bury his unease and approach the fiery creature, who was now practically prancing in place at the light fear he sensed coming from this strange human that headed straight for him.

"Tollo, Arod. Legolas requires you to assist me," he said clearly, hoping the horse would obey like the elf said he would.

Arod's ears perked and he quieted, allowing Gesan to come near him. The young soldier reached out a hand, and the horse nuzzled it, snuffing to get a good whiff of his scent. With his other hand Gesan gently stroked the smooth mane and soft neck, ensuring that the horse knew he was friendly before tacking him and tearing out of there for the city. He stopped petting the horse and deliberately untied the rope that tethered the horse, then he turned and Arod followed him over to where Faramir stood.

The Steward was dumbfounded at the boy's obvious skill with animals. No wonder Legolas had entrusted him with his precious equine friend.

Suddenly Faramir had a sudden feeling that he should go speak with Legolas about what he had observed, to better prepare them fin case they should have to engage the Southron's on 'their' side of the river. Gesan watched confused as the Steward threw his horse's tack on and mounted. "My lord?"

"I am going to pay Legolas a visit and ask him a few questions regarding his observations in the camp," he nodded his head towards Arod. "Tack him and leave as soon as you can. I must say you have quite a gift with animals, young one. Legolas chose well when he decided to let a stranger ride his horse."

With that he turned and trotted off. Gesan was too stunned for a moment to speak. That was a compliment he certainly wasn't expecting. Neither was he expecting Arod to shove his head into his back as if to say 'you heard him, let's go!'

Ten minutes later he had his saddle on the Rohan stallion's back and managed to find a girth that fit him, his own being too big. Fortunately with a few adjustments he got his bridle to fit the elegant head, though Arod seemed far less than thrilled at having to wear such restraints after wearing almost nothing of the sort for so long since becoming the mount of one of the firstborn. Nevertheless he put up with it since Legolas needed him to help the boy who was clumsily climbing onto his back. Finally Gesan was fully mounted, and had to hold back a shout of surprise as he found that it took only the slightest pressure from his heels to send the horse into a gallop.

He leaned back and put some pressure on the bit, slowing the horse and pacing him so that he could better accustom himself to the pace and not hurt himself. Arod's gait was amazingly smooth and flowing, and as they slowed even more for the treacherous path through the woods, he found himself wishing he could ride the horse just for fun, instead of in the dark for such an urgent purpose.

TBC…

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**A/N****: AAARRRGGGG, evil, evil RL! This chapter should have been at least a few pages longer and there were two more scenes I wanted to put in too. _(pouts)_ Oh well, next time I guess. At least it was longer than the last one. **

**This whole post has kind of been a stealth mission since my mom thinks I'm asleep and would kill me if she knew I was still up so I'm going to keep the review responses short. Thank you so much everyone who sent one. (_grin)_**

**Review Responses**

**SeeStar****: I like your new name. Me? Like reader-torture? Lol, I guess I need to hide it better, huh? _(sheepish grin)_**

**Lindahoyland****: I know cats are used a lot in reference to shape shifters and witches and all, but it's a common animal and easy to get characters to overlook, so I used it for its convenience, just like the character did. I'm so glad you like the story so much and yes I'm aware of that little oversight regarding the soldier's way of addressing Faramir. It's a typo I have to go back and fix.**

**Star-Stallion****: Yes, I get migraines so frequently I'm on prescription medication for them. They're horrible. I sent you the story info to that address you said was on your bio. If you still didn't get it I'll put it up on my bio so you can just copy it from there. Then once you've gotten it I'll take it down.**

**Setrinan****: Nope, I didn't leave it hangin! Well, not for too long anyways. You like the transformation? Yay! Umm, right now I don't think there's a traitor in Faramir's camp, but who knows? Maybe in the future.**

**Booklover Fanatic****: I can so sympathize with not being able to send a response to a fic you absolutely love. Sucks, doesn't it? Not being able to find a story you're hooked one does too. Yea, I wish I had more reviews too, but I'm grateful for the ones I've got, so it's ok. Maybe I'll get more once the story picks up and if I can start updating more frequently. And thanks for 'highly recommending' this story, I'll be grinning like an idiot for hours now, lol.**

**Kelsey Estel****: He's getting better! And Faramir's not as clueless anymore. Hey, you didn't have to yell at me to update this time. Bet you're happy. It didn't even take months too. Yes I know that last chapter ending was evil, but I couldn't make you guys wait any longer. Hmmmm, a sequel… that depends. _(evil grin)_ Do you want one?**

**Deana****: Yup, I'm getting better with this whole 'give the readers another chapter and don't be too long about it thing'. I am kinda mean to Legolas aren't I? Don't worry, Aragorn and Faramir and the rest'll get tortured in some way or another too before this is over.**

**Ok guys, you all know reviews get me to write faster, so please? _(gives cute Puss in Boots eyes)_ And please vote on the story length as well? If you really don't want to go over to my livejournal page you can leave a vote on a review, that works as well.**

**Nemarie for now and thanks for all your support my friends!**


	8. Battle at Linhinenet

**GRRRRR, I am SOO mad at this site I had this chapter done two days ago and it hasn't let me login. _(GLARES)_ Oh well, here it is now, enjoy you guys!**

**AN: OMG, yay! Another chapter done and I didn't make any of you wait any longer than I said I would. Ok, from now on unless I get a major schedule change and I have more time on my hands than I know what to do with I'm going to be posting shorter chapters (about the length of this one) every 2-3 weeks. I still wish I could make them longer and keep the frequency but I sadly can't and I know how much you guys hate to wait. So I won't make you wait any more.**

**AAN: Is it just me or did I make a lot of people afraid of cats with this fic? I for one have a ginger-colored cat and I'm certainly not afraid of her… she has this expression that looks too much like Garfield for me too be afraid of her. Lol, BTW, can anyone tell me what cat my bad guy might be modeled after?**

**Disclaimer: If I owned LOTR, I wouldn't be posting stuff here I'd be selling it in Waldens and Borders and wherever else and be making a fortune, so no, it's not mine, sadly.**

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**Chapter 7: ****Battle**** at Linhinenet **

Hooves pounding against the ground and the occasional equine snort were all that was heard as Faramir and Mennel cantered towards the dim lights of the town. Dangling from their stirrups and carried by both in one hand were lanterns to aid theirs and their mounts' vision of the terrain. While both thought it prudent to have a talk with the friend they sought to find there was no point in getting themselves and/or their horses killed because of a thing as simple as darkness.

Faramir glanced at his companion for a moment and sighed silently. He would have much more preferred to have gone to talk to Legolas alone, and in fact had originally planned to do so. However that had not lasted long for Mennel had seen him leaving the soldier's camp and insisted he take at least him along. Faramir had put up what he thought to be a good argument, mainly that he was the Steward and whatever he said went unless the king were present or said otherwise. What he had not counted on was Beregond, his own captain, joining in not to defend his case, oh Valar forbid, but to agree with Mennel that he should under no circumstances go alone.

So in the end he conceded the argument simply so he would be able to talk to the elf before the century ended. Beregond had been left in charge of the men, and Mennel now rode beside him intent on protecting him. At least neither had insisted on him taking a whole group of guards with him. They knew as well as he that they could spare no one if they wanted the greatest chances of success.

Although now that he thought about it, bringing Mennel along would save time in alerting the soldiers in the town of the impending fight so they could be ready to defend the town itself if anything should go wrong.

Faramir focused on the town, wishing it were light so they could ask the horses for more speed. But even with the lanterns it was too risky, so he curbed his desire to race there and instead tried to think of the lovely Shield Maiden that awaited him back in Ithilien.

Above the fields Erd and his master soared, waiting, watching. Faramir and his companion rode below them, nearing the place where the warg riders stood hidden in the dark. The sparrow fluttered anxiously, worried about what would happen to him should this not work. And happen to him something would, for he was the closest of his master's minions, and his master always went after the creature unlucky enough to be closest to him when something didn't go his way.

A couple of yards away the dark eagle rode a soft updraft, allowing it to aid in keeping him aloft so he could spare more attention to the goings on below.

A shout reached his keen ears and he swung around. The tension was over. Gondor and the Haradrim were attacking. The men of Harad had used their impressive skills at moving undetected over open ground to get them to the Erui River. Now they used ropes attached to arrows launched across the river to get a few men with rope ladders across. The Gondorians picked up on this strategy in time, and were already mounted and racing to the riverbanks to meet them.

Within moments the sounds of steel clashing and the screams of challenge and dying men could be heard all the way to the town.

The eagle turned back to his intended prey. As he thought, Faramir and the other human with him had turned around, knowing full well what the commotion meant, and rode as fast as they dared back to their comrades. He hissed with displeasure. NO! The human could not get away, not after all his careful planning. He opened his beak and let a loud screech pierce the air, the signal his riders were waiting for below.

One of the horses gave a snort that really sounded more like a growl, and as one they leapt forwards. Following the scent of their prey on the breeze, they needed no light to find them, though the glow of the lanterns helped, and gained swiftly with leaps and bounds; faster than any natural horses could run.

Faramir wasn't sure if it was a sound or the feeling of dread that stole over him, but something caused him to turn in his saddle, and in the dim light of the lanterns he saw a sight he hoped never again to see.

* * *

Turn-slash-parry-stab.

As he fought Aswad made sure to inch towards the edge of the battle, and to mark where the archers were. The first chance he got he wanted to be as far away from this place as possible and on his way north by himself. In no way did he desire to stay in this uncomfortably cold climate, but Mordor was supposedly unnaturally warm and so he kept that in mind rather than the cold rain of the night before.

He blinked as blood from his latest opponent's carotid artery splattered blood on his face and down his front. Someone rushed him from behind and it was by instinct alone that he flipped his blade backwards and under his arm so the person attacking impaled himself on it without Aswad having to make that much of an effort to see him.

Finally getting the blood out of his eyes he turned and noticed that it was one of his own men that had engaged him, the darkness and adrenaline of battle causing the man to mistake his for one of the gondorians._ 'Fools, all of them. Grateful I will be to finally be away from all this and back with people of intelligence.'_

Looking up from the dead southron he saw the first chance to get away since the whole skirmish started. Well actually it was a bit bigger than a skirmish, but at the moment he wasn't going to be choosy about what he called it so long as he got away before the opportunity a lull near him had caused vanished.

Dispatching another hapless victim, he stealthily made his way to the break in the line of fighters.

Only to be blocked as a rider from Gondor practically crashed into him on his way back into the thick of the fighting he and several others had just charged through. Aswad cursed and sidestepped, on reflex grabbing the saddle and the rider's leg and hoisting himself up behind him as he raced past. The gondorian cursed and tried to turn to look behind him and keep his seat as his horse shied. Aswad was quick in burying his dagger almost to the hilt in the man's torso, then ripped it out as the sudden change in the horse's balance proved too much for the animal and it lost its footing.

As the equine fell hard Aswad pushed off the saddle and threw himself in the opposite direction, almost getting stepped on by another horse as its rider came by to help the one he had just stabbed. This one managed to stay upright but its rider wasn't as lucky and ended up somersaulting off the animal's shoulder and landing hard on his knee, collapsing with a cry of pain. Aswad paid no attention and grabbed the horse's saddle, hoisting himself up and grabbing the reins, then pulling the horse around and racing away from his enemies.

Being mounted had the advantage of allowing him to move much faster and got others to move out of his way for fear of being trampled, but it also had the disadvantage of making him a bigger and more easily spotted target. As he burst free of the fighting he had only a moment of triumph to revel in before pain burst in his side as one of the archer's arrows found him. Belatedly he realized it was from one of his own kind.

_'Bastards.'_

Ignoring it he raced straight across the fields, heedless of all around him.

* * *

Legolas sat up, wincing at the pain in his chest and arm from the bites and from his hip. He looked around his fire-lit room. In a chair near the heath Ossir started from his doze and growled. "Go back to sleep, Elf."

Legolas ignored him and instead focused on the reason for his awakening. The nameless dread that assaulted him, telling him something was wrong and he needed to hearken to it. Pulling the covers off, he eased himself to his feet far more easily than Ossir would have expected from someone so close to death not so very long ago.

He limped to the window and pushed the shutters open, faintly acknowledging Ossir's cries of protests as gusts of cold air invaded the room. The elf's keen eyes scanned everything around him, the buildings, the alleyway below, and to his far right the fields separating the town from the river and the enemy beyond.

Legolas' breath caught. By now Ossir had gotten up and come over to pull him away from the window and force him back into bed. A human looking where he had would have merely seen a bunch of mounted shapes milling about, if that. But elven eyes he had, eyes that had clearly seen Faramir and Mennel by themselves and under assault from about fifteen others. He couldn't explain it, but for some reason those fifteen mounts seemed to be moving as wargs would, but he didn't stop to dwell on it as he tore away from Ossir and practically leapt with his good leg to his armor, having the shirt on and the pauldrons half-on before the human could follow him.

"What in Mordor's gotten into you!"

"Faramir and Captain Mennel are under attack. They have no guard with them, and aid is not likely to come. The battle is started. Gondor and the Haradrim are fighting. If we do not go to them they will not last, not against that many." By the time he was finished speaking Legolas already had donned the rest of his armor and weapons. Leaving his pack he limped to the door, only to be stopped halfway by a very unamused Ossir.

"Let me go, I've got to get to them before it's too late."

"You said 'we' Legolas, and I won't be letting you go alone. For all I know you'll just end up crawling back to me and Hapsen an inch from death's door again."

Legolas looked about to protest. "Just wait half a moment and I'll take you down to the stables and we can grab a couple horses and be on our way. Faramir and Mennel are good fighters, they can hold out that long." The last was said as the human made his way down the hall at a half run, leaving the elf to limp along behind him.

True to his word Ossir was quick in donning his own mail and sword. Except he brought his pack; not trusting to chance that four against fifteen wouldn't come out unscathed. He rushed into Hapsen's room and practically dumped the sleeping man off the bed, informing him of the situation and leaving him to pick himself up and follow them as soon as he was ready. Ossir considered for half a second to enlist the aid of others in the town but thought better of it. By now they would know of the fight taking place at the river and would be preparing to protect the town should the Haradrim make a break in its direction.

Personally Ossir thought such a thing stupid of anyone trying to escape an enemy, but since they didn't know exactly why the southern men had come in the first place it was prudent that they be prepared for anything.

Even in the few minutes that had passed Legolas' worry had escalated to a point where Ossir had been very afraid he would try to launch himself down the stairs and break his neck in his rush to reach his friend. He was relived to find though that the elf had enough sense to let him aid him down the stairs so that they wouldn't waste a second on such a thing actually happening.

Legolas limped as fast as he was able to the stables. Ossir made a grab for his saddle only to have the elf stop him. "You don't need it, a bridle's enough!" he cried as he threw the reins over the horse's head and fastened the straps. Thrusting the horse at the startled man he hop-skipped over to the liver chestnut animal Ossir pointed out as Gesan's when they had come in. Speaking in elvish to the startled equine he calmed it enough that he was able to leap astride and tore out of the open doors.

Ossir cursed and somehow managed to get on his own mount, taking off after the firstborn a moment later.

* * *

Faramir barely had time to pull his horse up before the small wave of riders hit him. He shouted a warning to Mennel, only to be answered by a gurgling scream. One of the humans, Haradrim apparently, thrust a spear at him, grazing his shoulder as he ducked under it. He answered by drawing his own sword and hacking with all his might at the person's ribs and arm. A small and grim smirk graced his lips as he felt his blade connect with enemy flesh.

His lantern was gone and the battle between his men and the Haradrim at the river became nonexistent as he and the ones attacking him engaged in a dance of death in the dark. He had no time for conscious thought, only blocking and answering back the ones trying to take him down. What became of Mennel he had not the time to dwell on, and somewhere in the back of his mind a small part of him not occupied currently with survival prayed to the Valar that the captain was okay.

Somewhere during the whole thing he heard a cry he never expected and could not help but turn to confirm with his eyes its source. Sure enough racing towards him was Legolas, brandishing his bow and already firing arrows into the pack of riders around him. His smirk became an all-out grin as several of the riders around him screamed and fell. As Legolas came too close for his bow to be of much use he slung it over his shoulder and pulled out his knives, using his legs to guide the horse beneath him. Behind the elf the Steward could see another man riding to aid them as well.

He turned back to his own fight as a sword swung at his neck and he brought his own up just in time to keep it from depriving him of his head. The number of their enemy had dwindled down to five, and should things keep going as favorably as they were now victory would be theirs and they could go aid Beregond and the rest of the men at the river. But it was not to be.

As he thrust his sword into one of the southern men's torso's and twisted it, he felt something impact him from behind, quickly followed by what felt like knives being buried into his shoulders. Whatever they were they were attached to something for as soon as they were fully buried they proceeded to yank him off his horse.

He hit the ground hard and was immensely relieved and surprised. Relieved that whatever sharp objects had been in his shoulders had left, and surprised because when he hit the ground he came face to face with a dead warg. Before he had time to dwell on this, one of the riders tried to ride their horse straight over him. He rolled to the side, becoming separated from his sword as he did.

A raptorial scream and a cry of surprise made him look up from his position on the ground. Legolas was currently being held by the neck and shoulders by a large eagle. Not anywhere near as large as Gwaihir, but large enough to pick the lithe immortal up and hold him for a good amount of time. Below the two one of the riders was taking careful aim at the elf's heart with Legolas' own bow, which had been knocked from his quiver at some point.

"I have a question for you, Master Steward," the eagle called in a raspy but quite human voice. "What will you do? If you continue to fight then I will simply have your precious friend slain right here and now. And what a pity that would be. There are so few of his kind left, you know."

"Let him go!" Faramir cried, leaping to his feet. Legolas was trying to pry the bird's talons off his neck, but they were buried deep and held fast. He could feel how dangerously close they were to piercing his throat altogether, and as it were he could feel one of them dig deep enough that he began to fear that the blood he felt flowing from it was more than superficial.

"Now why should I do that?" the eagle taunted Faramir, who had retrieved his sword and held it in front of him, ready to attack. "After all he tried to shoot me, and I very much fancy being alive."

"You'll fancy being dead once I'm through with you," Legolas managed to grit out as he continued to struggle. "Silence," the eagle commanded, giving his prisoner a good shake and causing the flesh of his neck to tear a bit more and black stars to burst in front of his eyes as his lungs were further deprived of oxygen.

"What do you want with him?" Faramir was getting worried at the sight of blood running down the elf's neck, and his sudden halt in struggling was adding to that worry. "Him? I don't want him, good Steward, oh no," the large bird shook its red-crowned head. "It is you I want. For what I will not reveal here, but you are the one I came for, so don't think I will hesitate to slay him."

"If I'm the one you want then let Legolas go and try and take me," Faramir's eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on his weapon.

"Again I must decline. Either you surrender and come with me willingly, or the Nine, or should I say Eight, Walkers will be reduced to seven. You don't want that now, do you?"

Faramir growled. There was no way he wanted to surrender to an animal.

"No, we certainly don't!" Faramir turned his head just in time to see the soldier who'd come with Legolas launch a spear straight at the black bird of prey. He'd totally lost track of the man during the fight, but now the Steward couldn't be happier to have him there.

His efforts were short-lived however, as the eagle gave a sweep of his wings and managed to get out of the projectile's way. He wasn't fast enough to prevent it from gauging a deep groove in his leg though. Immediately one of the other three remaining riders pounced on him and forced him face down into the dirt as the eagle gave a pained screech and loosed his hold on Legolas.

Faramir wanted to race over and reassure himself of his friend's wellbeing, but the eagle screeched and the rider placed his arrow tip right between the elf's eyes. "Come any closer Steward, and he dies. Surrender and he will live. It's your choice, and I suggest you make it quickly."

As if to prove his point the eagle flicked its wing and the human pressed his weapon a little harder into Legolas' forehead. Legolas kept perfectly still. The man seemed to be completely in the avian's control, but being the one at the business end of the arrow he wasn't going to take any chances. Being this close to the human allowed him to get a good look at him, and though he was dressed as the men of Harad typically were, something wasn't right. Something about him screamed 'warg' at the firstborn's acute senses.

"Very well then Lord Faramir. If silence is all you will give me, then I take it the elf is expendable," the eagle motioned with his wing again, and the human leaning over Legolas pulled the string of the Lorien bow back a little farther. Legolas inwardly sighed and tried no to frown, lest he die with that expression on his face. Being a warrior and associating with mortals for as long as he had quelled any fear he might have harbored of actually dying. What made him most angry, however, was being killed by his own weapon.

"No!" Faramir yelled. "Take me if you will, but do not kill him!"

"Do I have your word you will come quietly?" the eagle asked.

"Yes, you do," Faramir wanted to kick himself for saying those horrible words, but he had no choice. Never would he let another die that he counted amongst his friends if he could stop it. "Just don't kill either of them."

The eagle grated his beak in thought. "Very well," he said, coming to a decision. "If you come willingly I won't kill the elf or the soldier."

"Deal," Faramir sighed with relief.

The eagle nodded, and turned to his five remaining warriors. "Bind the elf and the Steward, and fetch me a cage."

One of the riders turned his mount and raced off into the woods. Both Legolas and Faramir were too busy frowning at their restraints and the sight of their weapons in enemy hands to really wonder at the strange way the horse moved. Once the two were bound they were made to sit with two of the guards to either side of them while Ossir was pulled away and made to stand in front of the eagle, who had now alighted and stood upon the ground.

Before their eyes a rusty red aura materialized and swirled in lazy patterns around the eagle's form. His body began to twist and alter itself until before them stood the most skeletal and emaciated creature any of them had ever seen. Limp and lusterless ginger colored hair hung in front of sunken grey-green eyes, and he reached a pale hand up to brush it out of his face. The high forehead accentuated the impression that he was from the grave, giving him the appearance that his hair was falling out though they could all see how thick it really was. Whatever had happened to this person they could not have been a day over thirty were they in good health.

From the pouch at his belt the man took a knife and herbs. In his fist he crushed the dried leaves into almost a powder, and while the two remaining men held Ossir still, he advanced on him with the small blade.

"You said you wouldn't kill him," Legolas cried. "Now call your wargs off and leave him be!"

The skeletal creature turned, a look of intrigue on his face. "You are a very observant one, Master Elf. I may have use for you yet."

"Don't hold your breath, I serve no one who would dare to tie me and use me against others."

"Yet aren't you being used against others simply by spying on them at the request of your king?" the man mocked.

Legolas gave him a look of pure murder. To his astonishment, the human didn't look in the slightest bit impressed.

"What are you going to do then?" Faramir was no less wary of a person who could look an angry elf straight in the eye and not be affected by their stare.

The skeletal man gave a short laugh. "Why, I am going to pay him back for trying to kill me. Something I should really do to you as well, Master Elf, though I won't. I have something far better in store for you."

Legolas chose to ignore him, not in the least bit interested in what that might be, and not holding any illusions that it would be pleasant, for him at least.

The skeletal man turned his attention back to Ossir. Legolas noticed this and tried to get up and aid the soldier, whom he had come to like. The soldiers, or disguised wargs if you wished to look at them that way, grabbed him and kept him in place. Faramir would have taken the opportunity and tried to help while there was no one guarding them, but the shapeshifter's voice stopped him. "One move out of you Steward and he will die."

Faramir wasn't going to take that chance, so he forced himself to sit still as he watched the man knick the soldier's neck while the warg-men held him still. It was not near any vital areas, but that proved to be the least of their worries as the ground herbs were forced into the cut, and the skeletal man began to utter words that none of them had ever heard before, or ever wanted to hear as the sound grated against their ears.

_"Amrek shelagh rensil.__ Conregh deralth vescloqh. Roldoth zelath glonir!"_

Legolas bit his lip to keep from crying out as he struggled against his bonds, trying to get his hands free so he could cover his ears. Faramir shivered as if suddenly deathly cold.

Around Ossir a brownish aura began to swirl. The warg soldiers stepped back as his features and body began to twist and shrink, brown and cream fur growing on him and a bushy tail sprouting from his backside. In moments the soldier was gone, and a squirrel stood in its place, looking totally horrified and bewildered. One of the warg-men stepped up and grabbed him by the scruff before he could think to move away.

Legolas and Farmir were no less horrified. "What have you done?" Legolas demanded.

"Oh don't worry. He'll change back when the counter-spell is performed on him," the skeletal-faced man said dismissively. "We should be going now. It's getting way too close to morning for my liking. Those clouds won't last long after sunrise and I don't want to be here by then."

"Who are you?" Faramir asked as they were prodded to their feet and manhandled onto the warg-horses. The fifth rider returned with a makeshift net made from thorn branches into which Ossir was promptly dropped. "Ouch! Easy you ruffian."

Legolas was relieved the soldier had at least retained his ability to talk.

"My name, my good Faramir, is Roklem," the man hissed as he muttered some words and transformed into an eagle again, though this time a smaller one, joining the sparrow that hovered over them silently.

"What do you want with us?" Legolas asked.

"That, Master Elf, you will find out soon enough, though I will say that your part in all this has just taken a whole new turn."

TBC…………………….

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**AN: OK, I have to get to my Animal Science class so I'm just going to post this and I'll put the reviewer responses on my Livejournal page later, as well as come back and fix any typos I missed. The link to it, I believe I already told you, is on my bio. Thank you all of you who reviewed and keep sending them, Please?**


	9. Insomnia With Amusement

**A/N: OMG I'm SOOOOOOOO (a thousand years goes by) OOOOOO SORRY! Apparently someone up there /Glares at the sky/ Forgot to read my memo saying I would have more time to write and I've been swamped with not only stuff with college and people dragging me this place that place and the other place (ok so maybe they didn't have to drag me all the time /sweatdrop/) I also got hit with writer's block soo bad I couldn't even think of anything to put in my journal. Well, actually I could, but I just couldn't get my fingers to type in my livejournal address let alone get any thoughts from my head onto the screen. Really sad huh? But anyway, fortunately for you, and the preservation of my life /glances furtively for angry posse of vengeful readers/ I'm not only going to give you one update, but two, to make up for it. Yes, you heard me right. TWO! So now please put down all assorted weapons you I'm sure have trained on me, and go ahead and read the first one. I have more to say but I'll say it on the next chap so I don't keep you waiting any longer.**

**Disclaimer: I'm not dead and I'm not filthy rich and my last name isn't Tolkien so no, sadly LOTR isn't mine. Everything in here not copyrighted by him is though. /grin/**

Chapter 8: Insomnia With Amusement

Frodo lay quietly, eyes closed, willing himself to find sleep as he had been doing for the past five hours. Frustrated, he opened his eyes, glancing out the window at the darkened sky freckled with the small pinpoints of light that his elven friends and Aragorn loved so much. And so did he, the small hero of the Free People's mused.

He had never given it much credit before, but the first time he had been able to see the stars again after the long dark road to Mount Doom, he had almost wept. Something about them. Their tranquility, their quiet. How they could be so majestic, as they watched over all beings as they slept, yet seemed so meek and innocent, aloof and out of reach while you could swear they listened to you speak and in their own way answered back, keeping secrets, yet offering you the answers to the world's greatest mysteries if only you would reach out and take them.

'Just like the elves,' the hobbit smiled. He now understood how it was that the immortal beings could spend hours upon hours simply staring up at the night sky, for more often than not he found himself doing so as well. It had gotten to the point where he no longer could blame his quest and its subsequent nightmares for his insomnia. The simple joy and peace he received when gazing at that vast expanse was just as much to blame, perhaps even more so. When he looked at them he could, for just a moment, feel as though everything was right again, as it was before the Ring and all its doom came into his life. For just a moment, his heart could find peace.

/crash/

Frodo's head jerked up as the noise startled him out of his musings.

"Shhhhh, Pip! Do you want to wake up the whole castle?"

Frodo almost groaned and flopped back down. When would those two ever learn? The voices of his kinsman and friend began to fade down the hall, heading in the direction of the kitchens. The former ringbearer in exasperation threw back his quilts and tied a robe around him, padding silently to the door, hoping to intercept the two and send them back from whence they came before they could wake up anyone else.

"That's rhetorical, though it's not like we've never done so before."

"Yes, and last time we did Legolas nearly shot us!"

Frodo had quickened his pace and had nearly caught up with them when a third voice all but shouted "If I recall correctly he nearly shot all of us!"

The volume of Gimli's voice alone was enough to send Frodo nearly four feet off the ground in sheer fright, an impressive height for one of his race. Trying to remain quiet himself as he sought to quell his now racing heart, he stepped around the corner and gave the dwarf and two hobbits standing there the best glare he could muster at the moment. "If all of you don't learn to keep it down before you say anything more, I may ask him to do so when he gets back anyway! Do you realize people are trying to sleep?"

This time it was Gimli and the other two's turn to jump a mile in fright as Frodo came rather abruptly into their sight and hissed at them in a voice that was uncharacteristically snake-like coming from the small hero, but then again when one tries to whisper and yell at someone at the same time that quite often is more or less the result.

"Honestly Laddie, waking anyone up was not my intention. I merely wanted to send these two rogues back to their beds," Gimli said, getting over his shock as soon as he realized who the new addition to their little group was.

Merry and Pippin still looked a little pale and startled, but managed to achieve their famous 'we weren't doing anything wrong we swear' looks. Looks that to anyone who knew them was aware meant nothing but mischief and suffering for everyone else. "We just wanted to start on a little surprise for the feast when Legolas and Faramir come back. It's not often we eat any of our native food here, and we thought it might be nice if we could for once," Merry stated.

"Not to mention a little midnight snack is always welcome," added Pippin.

Frodo tried not to roll his eyes. "You two just had a huge dinner; can't you wait until morning to eat? And I also think it would be better if you asked Aragorn first before simply going in and taking over the palace kitchens."

The two simply grinned and shook their heads. "Nope, we don't want anyone to know otherwise someone's going to get nosey." With that they turned around and started towards the kitchens.

Are you two deaf? Do you know how much trouble you could cause if you get caught? Joumar hates people cooking uninvited in his kitchens!" Frodo hissed, trying desperately to cut them off and make them turn around. In response the two friends simply grabbed a sleeve in both their hands and proceeded to drag him along with them. "Gimli, help!"

"No can do, Sir Hobbit. It's for your own good," Gimli shook his head, eyes glittering. "If you insist on not sleeping then apparently we haven't done a good enough job of tiring you out during the day. So to make up for it we're including you in this little escapade. Even if it takes us the whole night to wear you out."

"You planned this," Frodo looked at him incredulously, momentarily ceasing his struggle.

"Yup," was the reply from Pippin. "Aragorn gave us permission. Actually he might meet us there if he can."

"You mean if he can sneak away from Arwen," Gimli snorted. "Womenfolk are funny that way. Sometimes they recognize the need for some unconventional intervention for cases like these, and they simply turn over and go back to sleep. And then again sometimes they go off like one of Gandalf's rockets and explode in your face."

"Too true my friends, too true."

Everyone jumped and whirled around at the newest voice to come out of the darkness. Merry and Pippin dropping Frodo, who unceremoniously spun and landed on his rear, and Gimli's hand going to his belt, seeking the battle axe that he'd left beck in his rooms. "Peace friends, it's just me," Aragorn smiled as he stepped into the light provided by the lit torches scattered along the corridors.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack Laddie," Gimli growled. "Apparently you've been spending time with that elf too much lately."

"Sadly not enough, I'm afraid," Aragorn smiled. "Not nearly as much as before the war." His gaze softened. There were a lot of things he used to do before the war that he no longer did.

Frodo sympathized with him. It was in some ways the same for him too.

The five of them made their way to the kitchens. Pippin promptly began to pull out various meats, herbs, and vegetables, while Merry found several pots and pans to suite how they had to be cooked and prepared. Aragorn, Gimli and Frodo sat at a table covered in flour from being used to make bread and pastries.

"I hope Sam's holding out alright," Frodo murmured. Mere hours after Faramir and Legolas had left one of Gwaihir's eagles had come and told them that Rosie's father had taken a turn for the worst, and that Sam was needed back in Hobbiton. Sam had insisted that the others stay behind and that he'd be back as soon as he could, and to their surprise, the eagle said that Rosie herself had said much the same.

"That was kind of Gwaihir to send an eagle for him, he owes Gandalf no more favors," Aragorn nodded. "I personally think he's begun to take a liking to having contact with other folks after knowing Gandalf for so long. As long as he and his kind are treated well and with respect I think he welcomes friendships," Gimli said.

"He and his kin are close knit as well. Once he heard the reason I'm sure he understood why Gandalf would ask something like that of him, especially since he considers Rosie a friend just as much as the rest of us." Aragorn added. Frodo nodded in agreement. "I wonder if Gandalf will come to Gondor soon or stay in the Shire until Sam's ready to come back."

"Who knows," Gimli drew his pipe and flint out and lit it. "That wizard's just as flighty as the elf."

"Seems to me you've got a lot of flighty friends nowadays, Gimli," Aragorn chuckled, lighting his own pipe as well. He still enjoyed a good smoke now and then, but with his duties rarely got the chance to indulge in the pastime.

"Aye, you've got that one right, Laddie. But the elf's by far the worst of the lot. Gandalf's the only one who could ever hold a candle to him on that note."

Frodo sat watching them blow smoke rings and other interesting images, though he'd seen far more impressive from Gandalf, not that he would point that out. "I wonder how Legolas and Faramir are doing."

"We've had no word from them, so I'm assuming all is well. No one's reported seeing anything troublesome from the south since they passed that way," Aragorn to a deeper drag than previously.

"Knowing him though Legolas will still find a way to give them all insomnia before they return. He never could stay out of trouble when I wasn't around to keep him out of it," Gimli mused.

"According to him that's because he was usually keeping an eye on you so you didn't do anything foolish," Pippin called form where he was chopping onions and mushrooms, stealing the occasional piece despite Merry's threats.

"Pippin! If you eat anymore we won't have enough!"

The three sitting at the table chuckled. "Well, we should be hearing something soon. I instructed Faramir to give us at least an update after the first few days, so we should expect to hear from them tomorrow or the next day. All in all though I'd be surprised if they were gone longer than a week running the Haradrim out," Aragorn stated.

Gimli snorted. "Good. Then I can tell him just what I think of him for agreeing to go into battle without me. Honestly. All he had to do was send word and I would have met him in Linhin…er...whatever it's called."

"I'm sure you would have, but we didn't know if there were anymore Haradrim camped out in the surrounding area. 'Twas much safer to send help in a large group," the former ranger explained. "You think I want to face Legolas if you didn't show up and we found you slain in the woods?"

Frodo spoke up. "He's got a point, besides the fact that we didn't come here to fight the men of the south, we came to relax and visit with one another."

"Still doesn't mean that this whole thing hasn't gotten me thinking something's not right," the dwarf grumbled. "What commander would be so foolish as to infiltrate Gondor's borders with that many people all together? There's too many of 'em to be inconspicuous—"

"And not nearly enough to make any sort of challenge, I know," Aragorn said, a pensive look on his face, like all he wanted to do was get up and go survey the situation himself.

"Could they be going anywhere else?" Frodo asked.

"Where? All their comrades are in the south, and they have no known ties in the north now that Sauron and Saruman are gone."

"True Laddie but that may have changed. You don't know that they haven't had contact with the Easterlings since then," Gimli pointed out.

"Aye but there's nothing for them to gain by doing that. They'd be far out of their way with no resources to sustain them since the Easterlings were all but decimated by the war, and it's too far for them to get supplies from their own people unless they moved it in mass bulk, and then we'd notice it," Aragorn argued

"Sounds like they've gotten themselves into a pretty pickle for no good reason if you ask me," Pippin called.

"But they'd have to have a reason, Pip," Merry argued, "Those desert people have to be more careful than anyone else about how they go about things just by the area they live in. War 'n all that sort of thing takes a lot from the economy, and since theirs doesn't have much to begin with, they can't do anything of the sort unless it'd benefit them."

"Maybe that's what they're trying to do. Maybe they just want to make a truce or something."

"Well if that's the case they obviously must have learned their methods for doing so from orcs," Gimli chuckled.

"He's right," Aragorn smiled, though for all they knew in the last few generations the Haradrim _could _have picked up such practices from dealing with Sauron's orcs and other minions. He personally would not go into a meeting willingly with a Nazgul without at least a dozen archers with flaming arrows watching his back. _'Scratch that,'_ he thought. _'If I were going to bring archers they'd be elven, and Legolas and my brothers would definitely be amongst them. Actually, those three would be all the back-up I'd need to feel safe.'_

The king of Gondor smiled to himself as he thought of the elves that he'd come to regard as his family. Eladan and Elrohir, their mischief never ceasing to be an amusement and always welcome to drive unhappy thoughts away, Elrond, with his seemingly unending wisdom and the sense of warm welcome Aragorn always felt when he was around him, Erestor, always worrying over the state of the libraries and archives yet ever eager for the chance to teach others, Glorfindel, with his quick mind and dauntless bravery 'and high tolerance for the mayhem the twin's cause' Aragorn thought with a laugh, refusing to add himself to that list out of pride, his beloved Arwen, with her kind and selfless nature, and Legolas, the friend who'd been there for him in a time when no one else was, who's relentless loyalty and quiet support he could always count on no matter what the circumstances.

He truly was blessed to have them throughout his younger years, when otherwise he'd have been lost. Aragorn truly believed it was because of them that he'd even had a chance at becoming the king he was now, and he knew not a soul who'd contradict him on it.

The ex-ranger sighed. What were they doing now? Arwen he knew was asleep, or at least had been when he'd snuck out of their room. Elrond was probably either asleep or doing some form of paperwork as he was prone to, as was Erestor, who himself wouldn't sleep if he knew his lord was up and working. Glorfindel could be anywhere from fast asleep in his chambers to being on a hunting trip to patrolling with the night guards, and as for the twins he didn't have enough energy or imagination to guess.

Legolas he hoped was alright. Not having a clue as to what the elf was up to considering the situation he had gone into ate at the son of Arathorn, but again he had to remind himself that for now there was nothing he could do, and hope that both the woodland elf _and _Faramir came home all right and that there would be no more trouble with intruders on his people's lands.

"Hello? Are you listening or have you taken to sleeping with your eyes open?"

Aragorn started as his eyes came into focus, though when they had gone out of focus in the first place he hadn't the slightest idea, to see Pippin's face so close to him he had to go cross-eyed in order to recognize him.

"In case you haven't noticed, we're done cooking for the night, it has to sit undisturbed for a few days before we can do anything else with it."

"We're all goin' back to bed Laddie, tis almost dawn," Gimli stated. "See you all at breakfast I hope." With that he left.

"Good night Strider," Merry said as he and Pippin finished stowing their concoction away and left. "What do you think we'll be having, by the way?" Pippin asked as the door swung shut behind the two, leaving only Aragorn and Frodo left.

"We'd better get out of here too before the cooks show up," Frodo looked up at the much taller man.

"I agree. Better if I get back before Arwen wakes up too."

The hobbit nodded and walked out of the room, the king close behind. When they came to the place in the halls where they had to part ways Aragorn turned back. "Frodo, can I ask you something?"

The small being turned back and said, "Sure, anything.".

"Why is it you sit up all night and don't sleep? I would have thought you'd be over your insomnia by now, or at least in control of it."

Frodo smiled warmly. "Why do I stay up at night? Simple, it's the only time one can see the stars."

With that he turned and disappeared in the direction of his rooms, leaving behind a slightly bewildered, yet completely understanding king of men.

TBC…..

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A/N: Well I got it to you by Wednesday, as I said I would. I had to stay up very late when I have to waitress at a wedding that is far enough away that I have to take a train to get to it tomorrow, plus have to be up very early and won't likely get home until late. But oh well, I couldn't stand not to make this deadline. Wow, seven pages of randomness and no action almost drove me insane while writing, but I figured you guys would need the break before what comes next, and the rest of the guys stuck in Minas Tirith needed checking in on, since we haven't heard anything from them since chapter 2.

**All the reviewer responses will be up on my livejournal from now on since I found out ffnet doesn't want them attached to stories, but because of tomorrow I don't know if they'll be up until Friday, so you might want to look for them then or tomorrow night.**

**Please remember to review guys. My muse really needs them right now. She's been caught between this fic and a few others I'm writing for other fandoms so the extra support is vital if I'm to get back on track with this one. Thanks.Oh and the second half of this so-called double update is outlined and will be up as soon as I can type it. If anyone's really good with languages and can help me with some stuff in the Black Speech your aid is well appreciated if you're willing to give it.**

**Until next time.**


	10. Blood Curse

**A/N: AH-hahahahahahaha… I'll smash it with a hammer! Sorry, I love that line. And I won't really smash it with a hammer because then you won't get to read it. Yes folks, the moment you've been waiting for for almost two months (or is it past that? _/shrugs and ducks flying forks/_) is here: Sindarin Fox chapter 10, well 9 technically, but whatever. YAY! Anyways first I have to say a big thank you to everyone who's stayed with this story. For those of you who have left, I'm sorry you have but it has taken over a year to get this far with almost nothing regarding the main plotline, so for that I forgive you. Anyways this chapter brings an end to all that, which is why it took me so long to write it. It has been a major pain in the you-know-what, and my evil little muse hasn't been much help either. But here it is nevertheless. And I seem to have finally found a summary I like. More Yay!**

**As any of you who have read my last livejournal entry know, after this comes most of the ideas I had for this story, so updating should become easier. _/glares at her muse, daring her to run off again/ _Of course I can't blame her entirely though. I just started my first semester of college the last week in August, and since I went away from home it's been a big change, though a very welcome one. College rules! High school was crap compared to this. **

**But anyways I have only one more thing to ask before I let you go on to read the twenty pages of text I've given you. Would anyone like to beta this story? I was going to go beta-less since I can more-or-less edit text and navigate middle earth on my own. But with my muse being so unreliable I'm to the point where just talking to someone who's into this story and could give me some good ideas would be very welcome. I have lots of friends that are also writers, butmost of them are total anime fans (one of my other loves _/grin/_). So no lack of writer's support there, but still, I'd like someone who's been following this story to help out. So anyone who's interested say so in a review or leave a comment on my livejournal page. Thankies! _/grin/_**

**Disclaimer: No I don't own Lord of the Rings or anything else that the great Tolkien wrote and I'm not making any money for this so you can't sue me. **

**!Warning!**

**This story is still rated 'Teen', or 'PG-13' depending on which rating system you use. However, to cover my own hide I'm upping the rating on this chapter to 'M', also known as 'R'. The overall story will still be PG-13, but this one chapter has particularly graphic violence and it is only fair that you should be warned. If violent ritual bloodshed bothers you, then do not read beyond the warning sign. Just go to my livejournal page, where I'll have a non-descriptive summary of what happened so you can remain up to date. **

**Don't flame me if you fail to heed this warning. It was given in all fairness.**

****

Chapter 9: Blood Curse

'Keep going, keep going…' Gesan kept repeating the mantra in his head as he fought to stay awake. Exhaustion threatened to overtake him as he and the pale grey ghost of a steed raced beneath the stars. Once they had reached the edge of the woods and the end of the trail, that had turned out to be far more dangerous than anything he would ever have attempted to ride through at night had he known it was there, Arod took the sudden wide open road as the perfect opportunity to move them both along more quickly. Opening his stride he gave the boy a true taste of what speed was.

_The scenery flew by and Gesan had to blink often to rid his eyes of the tears caused by the cold wind ripping across them. His face became numb and his lungs hiccoughed at the icy air being forced into them. But he loved it. The wind blowing his cloak out to billow behind him, the ground becoming one smooth river of brown and green beneath them, the sheer thrill of knowing that even though he couldn't see much by the light the moon and lantern offered, Arod could, enticing him to place all trust in the elven-owned steed. The horse himself was flying faster than any other he'd ever watched run, let alone been on himself, his gait so smooth the boy could easily imagine them taking off and joining the eagles in their own sacred territory at any moment. _

_Gesan knew the animal beneath him belonged to someone else, yet he couldn't help but wish that Arod were his. Never had he met any creature more awesome or amazing. He was in a dream, racing along on a stray splash of star light. For a moment he forgot about the pressures of being away from family and home, of the battle and his mission, and he gave himself over to the sheer rush of adrenaline, laughing, feeling as wild and carefree as the elves he supposed must have in the beginning, when they were first awoken. _

_For awhile the speed and excitement kept him awake and aware. But as time went on his body began to demand that he give in to its limitations and sleep. The young soldier denied himself to give in for as long as he could, lest he fall or worse be forced to stop for the night and risk getting caught by not only Haradrim but by any predators or bandits that might be lurking in the area as well._

_His last thought as his weighted eyelids eased shut was, 'gotta keep going…'_

"HEY!"

Gesan's eyes flew open and he bolted upright. Looking around he was startled to see massive white walls in front of him. Looking behind him he could see the expanse of plains behind him. The sky above was a grayish-blue, yellow light tinting the horizon. Arod stood quietly, waiting for him to make a move. The stallion had gotten them here, now it was up to him to get them inside.

"Are you deaf! I asked you what business you have here at this hour!"

The young man looked up at the guard yelling at him from the top of the wall. As he did he realized the great gates were closed. How long had he slept?

He shook his head and finally answered the man, who was by now getting highly impatient at having to deal with a half-asleep boy when he himself would love nothing more than for his shift to end so he could get some sleep. "I need to get inside; I've got news from the Lords Faramir and Legolas for the King regarding the Haradrim. It must be delivered as soon as possible."

"And what news is this, pray tell?" the soldier gave him a suspicious look, unsure if he should trust that such a young person would be given responsibility of anything of great importance.

Gesan shook his head. "I'm sorry but I cannot tell you. By the orders of both the Lord's this information is for the King's ears alone."

"Well unless you can prove that what you say is true I suggest you wait until the gates open. I'm sure three hours won't make that much of a difference." With that the man turned away and proceeded to ignore him.

Gesan fumed in dismay. Three hours! Even though he was sure no one at the palace was up at this hour he was certain that neither the King, Faramir, or Legolas would be pleased to hear that he had been delayed for so long when he was so close.

He shuddered at the early morning cold and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. Calling to the guard to hear him out proved futile as he was only warned that if he kept up the racket he would'nt be allowed in the city when the gates did open.

A half hour later he was startled out of his reverie as an older guard coming to relieve the one he'd spoken to spotted him. "You boy! What business have you that you'd be waiting out here so early?"

"Pay him no heed, he says he was given a message for the King but has no proof of it. I told him he has to wait until the gates are opened for the day," the relieved guard said.

"Is that so?" asked the newcomer, stroking his beard and appraising the youth looking up at him from the back of a very familiar, and by now fidgeting grey horse. "Tell me lad, by what name does that fine animal of yours go by?"

"His name is Arod, sir. He is of Rohan stock and was loaned to me by Lord Legolas of Ithilien." Gesan had a hopeful look in his eyes as he said this. Perhaps Arod really would be of use in allowing him passage into Minas Tirith.

The older soldier smiled and nodded. "I thought as much." He then turned to the men on the ground behind the wall. "Open the gates, and be quick about it!"

"What!" the younger guard looked at him incredulously. His companion shrugged. "That horse is the personal mount of Lord Legolas. If he let another take him then the reason must be one of importance."

Less than ten minutes later the gates were opened and Gesan rode through, thanking the man as he went.

Arod was more than happy to be moving again, and the boy on his back had to fight a bit with him to get him to stay at a soft, easy lope. After a while of this he decided the heck with it and let the stallion have his head. Arod snorted and settled into a much faster pace of his own choosing. Gesan was grateful that the rest of the gates were kept open and that there were no people out in the streets at this hour, with the exception of a few guards that kept smartly out of his way, his uniform enough that they didn't question his presence.

The last gate was of course closed, but a quick explanation and the sight of Arod and his uniform was sufficient to grant him passage. The teenager was loath to admit that his magnificent ride on the fiery steed was at an end, but he dutifully patted Arod on the neck and bade the sleepy-eyed stable hand that took charge of him to give him special care.

He was led into a dining hall and told to wait there while the king was fetched from his rooms. The boy was slightly confused as to why they would meet there instead of in the throne room, but said nothing, figuring he would either find out when the king got there, or that it was something he should simply overlook and be glad he got his message to the king at this hour.

While he was waiting he tried to stand stock-still and look smart and attentive when the king arrived, but as the minutes wore on the desire to fidget grew until he couldn't help but shift back and forth from one foot to the other. What sleep he's gotten on Arod wasn't nearly enough to sustain him for long, and he was beginning to tire as the initial adrenaline he'd gotten from finding that the horse had gotten him to their destination unbidden wore off.

Gesan's jaw tightened instinctively as he fought to hold back a yawn. He caught his hand straying to cover his mouth and tightened it into a fist to keep it at his side.

The doors swung open behind him and he whirled, just in time to see Gandalf the White enter.

"Well, this is a surprise," the elderly-looking being said. "Never did I expect to see others showing up so early."

Gesan bowed. "I bear news for the King that cannot wait for a later time to be delivered."

"Do you now?" Gandalf asked. "Well, being the person Aragorn is I'm sure he'll have no problem shaking himself into coherency despite the hour." There was a mischievous twinkle in the wizard's eye as he said that, putting the boy more at ease after his abrupt arrival.

Gesan nodded. He certainly hoped so. He definitely didn't want to face a disgruntled monarch just woken and dragged out of bed.

"Well, while we wait we may as well order something to eat. I don't know about you, lad, but after that journey I could very well use a meal."

Gesan certainly didn't know what to say to that. He knew the wizard was a friend of the king and allowed to make himself at home while there, but to invite him to join in… What was he to say to that? Sure he was hungry, but every instinct screamed at him that he had no right to be sitting at the King's table when the monarch arrived.

The White Wizard saw the boy's hesitation. He also, with his foresight, could see that this boy would prove to be quite important a friend to have in the not-too-distant future, and so he began trying to get the young man comfortable with his presence. "Come now lad, you need not worry about decorum. Why it's not even dawn yet! Come sit and eat with me as a friend, and I assure you that Elessar will not object in the slightest."

Gesan was unsure of this, but desired to anger or insult the wizard no more than he desired to anger or insult the king. "Then I shall take you up on your offer, Sir Wizard," he bowed low.

Gandalf smiled. "There's no need for that boy, you may address me as Gandalf, or Mithrandir."

"Mithrandir?" Gesan tried the odd word on his tongue.

"It is the name the elves gave me," Gandalf explained. "It means 'Grey Wanderer' in their tongue. They still call me that, though grey I am no longer."

Gesan noticed the wistful smile on the wizard's face. He surmised that the other was thinking of days long past, and of memories he could not even begin to comprehend. After a moment though the Istari snapped out of his reverie, and shook his head. At that moment a couple of servants brought enough food to the table to feed three people at least.

Gesan stared at the man. He must have planned this out in advance for them to wait so short a time to be fed. And judging by the looks of things, he'd planned on adding to the participants to the meal.

They were at Gandalf's urging about to break their fast when the doors opened once more and none other than King Elessar strode through the doors. Gesan jumped up and bowed low swiftly, lest he be thought rude. The king, to his surprise, chuckled. "There's no need for that, my friend, 'tis far too early for formality." As Gesan straightened he could indeed see that sleep had not completely left the Heir of Isildur's eyes, yet he noted that the man still managed to be attentive regardless.

"Ah Aragorn, come, join us. And you, young man, didn't I tell you that wasn't needed? Sit, both of you." Gandalf said, waving his arm.

"Isn't it a bit early for breakfast?" Aragorn asked as he and Gesan took their seats, the latter a bit tentatively.

Gandalf mock glared at him. "The hobbits would be horrified to hear you say such," he said gravely.

"Oh please. With the amount they eat I'm surprised they don't explode. They're like horses, always looking for food," Aragorn responded, reaching for a piece of fruit. He looked over at the teenager who looked as though he would be bitten by something horrible if he touched anything. "Gandalf's right. Eat something, you look famished, and I was told you had news for me."

Gesan nodded, as he reached for the bread. "Lord Legolas infiltrated the Haradrim camp. He found papers, my lord, and feels that this threat is bigger than was originally thought."

"Papers, you say? Did they tell you what was written on them?" Gandalf asked.

"Lord Legolas believes they have writing hidden on them. He sent them here with me to ensure they'd not be lost in the confusion of the fight."

"And that's why you're here at such an hour?" Aragorn queried. At the teenager's nod Aragorn asked, "Was Faramir going to attack when you left?"

"Yes, your majesty," Gesan answered.

"Please," the former ranger waved his hand. "No formalities. My name is Aragorn."

"Aragorn," the young soldier repeated, and the king nodded in approval.

"Has anyone tried to decipher the papers yet, do you know?" Gandlaf asked. "I would assume Lord Legolas tried, but he didn't find anything before he gave them to me to bring to you. He was hoping you might have more luck." With that Gesan brought the rolled up documents out of an inner pocket in his tunic where he'd kept them and handed them to the king.

Aragorn looked at him sternly. "Why didn't you tell us you had them earlier?"

The young men suddenly looked very much like a frightened rabbit under his leader's gaze. "I did, sire. I wasn't going to hind them, I swear."

Aragorn's eyes closed, realizing the boy was right. "My apologies, apparently I am not as awake as I thought."

Gandalf leaned over and placed a placating hand on the ex-ranger's arm, gesturing the man to calm down lest he send the boy running from the hall in terror. Aragorn was still irritated with himself, but acquiesced, his eyes softening and his previous friendliness returning.

"I'm sure my boy that you have not looked at them, am I right?" Gandalf queried, drawing Gesan's eyes to him. Gesan for his part was relieved to have an excuse to take his gaze away from the irritated monarch sitting across from him. "No sir, I did not. Lord Legolas and Lord Faramir both instructed me to bring them here as fast as I could so there'd be no chance of anything happening to them while the battle was going on."

"Well then, no harm done," Gandalf smiled. "They're here, and safe, and now I suggest we open them and take a look at them."

"Shouldn't you and I take a look at them in the library after we're done eating?" Aragorn asked, wondering why it was that Gandalf was so interested in including the boy when he to tell the truth could see no point in it.

"Quite right," the wizard nodded. "Let's as the hobbits would say 'tuck in' and when we're done we can all—"

"Sire!"

Gesan started and turned as the other two men looked up at the Citadel guard who'd just come running through the door, causing it to bang against the wall with the force with which it had been thrown open. Close behind him glided a mottled black hawk.

"Sire, this bird just came for you, it bears a message," Aragorn's eyes narrowed at the frightened look on the guard's face. The man looked like he'd just seen a wraith. The bird alighted on the table amongst the food. Gandalf frowned upon realizing there was no note tied to the avian, nor did the guard come over and hand one to them. "That is no ordinary bird…"

Aragorn and Gesan noticed this too. Aragorn looked back at the still wide-eyed guard, and was about to ask him where the message was when the bird itself spoke.

"Greetingssss Elesssssarrrr," it hissed. "My Massterr would like to inforrrm you that the battle isss underrway, but morrre than that, he can't sssay."

If Aragorn was taken aback he didn't let it show. "Then just what did he wish to tell me?" he demanded.

"Only thisss," the bird replied. "The Lorrd Faramirrr iss currently ssstaying with my Massterr to take carre of ssome busssinessss. Once he and my Massterr have come to a ssuitable arrangement he'll come back to you. Until then don't try to find him, my Massterr doessn't like his business being interrrupted. Don't worrry about hisss ssafety."

With that the bird launched itself at the window. "Wait!" Aragorn called after it. "Why would Faramir not be at the battle? Who is your master, and what business has he with my Steward?"

"You'll know, when you arrre meant to know," the hawk croaked back. Pausing at the open window it cocked its head back to regard the king with a black, beady eye. "Don't believe everrything you ssee, Elessar."

Then it launched itself out the portal and was gone with a gust of air.

"What was that all about?" Gesan asked; eyes still fixed to the now empty window.

"I don't know," Aragorn's voice was low and determined. "But I'm going to find out." With that he strode past the guard to the door.

While a few of the Warg-men watched them, Roklem transformed the rest of them into eagles. Each was almost the size of Gwaihir's kin and more than capable of carrying them a distance. The prisoners were forced to sit and wait while the rest were transformed when the sound of pounding hooves came into hearing. Rolkem's eyes narrowed to dirty green slits and he snarled at one of the eagles. "Go find what that is! If it's one of the Gondorians, kill them."

The eagle leapt in the air and flew off towards the shadowy figure. Legolas couldn't see him very well, but the person leaned low in the saddle, yet wasn't moving overly fast. More than that he wasn't given time to discern, for the eagle swooped down and plucked the unhappy person from their saddle. The horse shrieked in pure terror and shied away, veering off and racing towards the town. The eagle snapped its wings open and those on the ground had to shut their eyes to shield them from the dirt it kicked up. What they saw in its talons once they were able to see again was not what they expected. Out of the eagle's talons tumbled a Haradrim soldier. He gave a muffled cry when his shoulder impacted the ground, jarring the arrow sticking out of it, before coming to rest on his stomach. He didn't look at any of them, instead breathing hard and focusing on trying to control the pain.

Roklem walked up to him and nudged him with his foot. "Who are you?" he demanded. "And why do you flee north, when the rest of your companions are to the south?"

The man raised his head, dark eyes taking in the man before him, and gasped "I'm trying to get away from my companion's desire to get themselves all killed. We should not have come here like we did, and I have no desire to be slain for my commander's incompetence."

"And why did you come into our territory in the first place?" Faramir shouted at him, earning himself a swift hit from one of the eagle's claws, opening up a large gash in his ribs.

"Be silent," Roklem warned, and then said to the eagle, "Do not harm him further. I want him alive and at least partially coherent when we get home." The eagle nodded, cowering at the deadly promise in his master's eyes.

Ossir was outraged. "How dare you! You lousy, good for nothing, bag of bones lunatic!"

"You would do well to keep your mouth shut, squirrel," Roklem tilted his head towards the birds of prey. "Unless you've forgotten that some eagles will eat small animals like yourself."

"Ossir, be silent, it's nothing." Ossir looked like he was more inclined to believe that the One Ring had been pink than that this was 'nothing', but he followed Faramir's order anyways.

"Now what should I do with you, Master Haradrim?" Roklem returned his gaze to the wounded man at his feet.

"Judging by the company you keep I'd say we have the same enemies," the man murmured, his eyes smoldering at the sight of Legolas. "Take me with you and heal my wounds and I'll serve you in whatever your endeavor with the Gondorians. My own people are too stupid for my allegiance anyways."

Roklem did not miss how the man looked at his elven prisoner. _'Perhaps he could be useful in controlling him. At any rate if he proves useless I can always use him for my experiments.'_

He motioned to one of the eagles. "Very well, I shall keep you for now until you prove your usefulness. But fail in that and I think you'll find death to be far better than life. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Good," the shapeshifter nodded. "And what, pray tell, is your name?"

The man picked his head off the eagle's neck, from where he was situated on the creature's back. "My name is Aswad Sem," he answered. "And yours?"

Roklem laughed, a haunting and horrifying sound that made Legolas and Ossir want to run up a tree and hide and Faramir to jump on a horse and keep running until the thing collapsed. Such creatures, all concluded, should not make such sounds. "My name is Roklem."

Aswad nodded. "Then I am at your service," and dropped his head back onto the eagle's neck, unconscious after using the last of his strength in that mere bit of conversation.

"Well, then," Roklem nodded to the eagles, before transforming back into one of the great birds himself. "Let's be off."

Normally the thought of flying would have intrigued Legolas. Being a wood elf, heights didn't bother him, but flying in such a manor as he currently was definitely had his heart pounding in his chest from dread. Above him the large scraggly eagle screeched coarsely, causing him to wince as the coarse sound grated on his delicate hearing and the lethal talons tightened his arms against his sides.

Legolas glanced over at Ossir, pitying the poor man, first for the fact that he had been turned into a squirrel of all things, and second for the fact that he was trapped in a makeshift cage made of thorn branches. The man—or squirrel—had kept his comments wisely to a minimum, but as the unforgiving thorns poked, bruised and pierced him, his desire to tell their captors exactly what he thought of them escalated to the point where he could hardly manage to maintain his silence.

Faramir was no better off. The gash on his ribs was bleeding still, and would need attention soon if it was not to become a serious concern to his health. He also bore the burden of being the one whom Roklem truly wanted, and the worry of what would happen should the evil creature capitalize on his companions' expendability. If control over him they sought, they didn't need both Legolas and Ossir. While Ossir was the logical choice to get rid of considering his current state, Legolas was far more difficult to control, and they might do away with him simply to make their lives easier.

Legolas could see this too, as could Ossir, and so both for the moment remained obedient to their captors' whims. All three however were on the lookout for any chance they had to get away, and should one come, they'd be ready for it. Being by now a few thousand feet in the air they were forced to relinquish this idea, but the flight wouldn't last forever.

Indeed a few hours later they began their descent. Even Legolas gave a sigh of relief as they came closer to the ground. The higher they went the colder the atmosphere became, and by the end even the elf was shivering with cold, his injured hip protesting fevently. The human and squirrel were almost hypothermic.

Roklem gave them a few minutes to regain their breath after having been subjected to such thin air for so long, while he changed his minions back into Wargs. The one carrying Aswad he sent bounding ahead after he made sure the man was securely tired to its back. A few he turned to humans, and they were instructed to take hold of the prisoners as a first line of defense against an escape attempt.

Once they were ready the group set off into the forest. Legolas of course realized where they were, for he'd been there before. The river to his right, and the growing roar of water plunging down could only mean one thing—Rauros Falls. It was the only waterfall he knew of that was so big he could hear it a few miles off. _'Is that where they live?'_ he wondered.

They hiked along the forest trails, the terrain getting steeper. Legolas' body warmed quickly even in the shade of the night and the brief flashes of moonlight that would flicker through the leaves as the wind played with them, even his own healing wounds easing to a dim memory in the back of his mind. The Steward was worse off, and the elf winced as he heard them berating him for stumbling and not moving fast enough.

Finally he'd had enough. Faramir set his foot on a rock that jutted out of the ground and it gave way beneath his weight, rolling to the side and pitching him the other way. The Warg-man to his right wasn't out of the way quick enough, and they both ended up on the ground with the creature on the bottom.

"You clumsy fool!" he screeched.

"My apologies," Faramir forced out, not really sorry at all. If anything he was more disgusted that he had come into bodily contact with the foul thing. The impact had done nothing to help his screaming ribs either.

"That's it, human. How an oaf like you could be so important I have no clue, but it won't matter in a moment."

The Warg advanced on the man. He was not as good at stalking in this form, but his intentions were made clear anyways. Even bound and injured as he was Faramir prepared to fight back, shifting his own weight forwards slightly and crouching down ever so slightly, hoping to catch the Warg off guard.

Legolas was watching all of this out of the corner of his eye, until one of his own escorts smacked him upside the back of the head and snarled "Mind your own business, Elf."

Instead of getting angry at the being, the elven prince simply followed what was going on with his ears. When the Warg and Faramir squared off, causing the entire company to pause, he too prepared himself for action. The Warg charged, and he erupted into motion simultaneously.

Ducking and whirling around the blonde elf took out his escort's legs from under him, not missing a beat and dashing forward with elven swiftness crouched and stuck his leg out low along the ground. The charging Warg-man had no time to interpret what the gold and green blur could possibly be when he found his foot irretrievably hooked on something and the ground coming up to meet him incredibly fast as all his forward momentum shifted into a downward arch.

Legolas waited not a second after the Warg met a face-full of soil and grass before straightening and darting back over to his previous position in the group, looking for all the world like nothing had happened, forcing himself to ignore the protests of his hip.

Roklem had watched all of this with fascination. If he had any doubts about what he had planned to do since seeing the immortal's skills at the town, they had just been completely obliterated. He made up his mind right then and there the exact course of action he was going to take, and strode forward to put it into motion.

The Wargs of course were extremely angry at being made fools of, yet seeing their master stalking towards them; they backed away from their intended prey.

"Well, well, well. It seems I was correct after all," the skeletal creature purred, taking a hold of Legolas' chin and looking at him as one would look at a horse they might buy. "You could be very useful."

Legolas yanked his face away from his grip, eyes flashing in anger. Roklem chuckled and stepped back. "Of course not as you are now, but that's easy enough to fix."

He turned back to the Wargs. "Take our guests to the clearing, make sure they're blindfolded. I'll be there shortly." With that he left, calling behind him, "Oh, and don't rough them up very much, I'd like them to be coherent for this."

Ossir spoke up for the first time since they'd landed. "What do you think he's got up that bone-filled sleeve of his?"

"Hey, no talking," the creature holding him gave the thorny cage a good warning shake, rending new cuts and lost patches of fur on the poor squirrel. Said squirrel grumbled, and Legolas had to admire the extent of his imagination when coming up with ways to torture people he didn't like. The elf made a mental note not to ever get on the man—er,squirrel's—bad side. The idea of having ones brains removed through ones eye sockets didn't seem like a very pleasant pastime.

One of the men came up to the elf with a dirty piece of cloth that he supposed was to be a blindfold, and he treated the creature to a scathing elvish glare. The Warg-man didn't look happy that he had to work with such an obstinate prisoner, yet with the help of some of his buddies holding the bucking elf still managed to get the thing on. Faramir was too tired from blood loss and everything else his body had recently been subjected to, so he simply stood still for the whole procedure. Ossir they took care of just by draping a cloth over his cage.

The whole way there went fairly smoothly. Considering how difficult it is to fight multiple opponents while being shoved through the woods the three companions let themselves be led along, or Legolas and Faramir did, anyways. Fortunately the beings leading them weren't as stupid as the orcs they were famous for carting around and made sure their charges came out of the hike with no new injuries. In a twisted way it was like being lead blindfold through Lorien again to Legolas' mind.

It didn't take too long for them to reach where they were going. Though none of them could see they were brought to an abrupt halt and heard muttering as someone moved things around the clearing. Legolas heard a muffled yelp and something scraping against the ground.

How long they were made to stand there they didn't know, but with his elven sensitivity to nature the elven prince concluded it was now sometime near dawn. The noises stopped for the most part and were replaced by footsteps that stopped a moment later. The blindfold was removed from Legolas' eyes and he blinked for a moment to rid himself of the oppressive feel of it before looking around.

Faramir and Ossir were still blinded, and all three were too well guarded to try for an escape. Actually looking around the clearing's edge Legolas could see at least twenty more Wargs in their true forms. They were standing guard. The clearing itself was large, large enough that had the Fellowship done more scouting in this area they'd probably have found it fairly easily when they came though here on their journey. In the middle there was a sharp rise in the ground, caused by boulder or forgotten cairn, though which Legolas could not discern, for it was too overgrown with thick moss.

The ground circling it had grass much higher, almost up to the elf's knees. In the center, next to the rise Roklem stood, inspecting some freshly drawn carvings in the moss. From what the blonde elf could see they seemed to encircle the entire thing, and seemed to be intricate carvings of the waxing crescent moon. An open leather-bound book resting on top of the rise served as a platform for a jar of something or other. Roklem reached towards it and Legolas realized he had a brush in his hand and was painting over the carvings with whatever ink or ink-like substance the container held.

After circling the rise a few times and touching up a few of the marks with the liquid Roklem placed a stopper on the jar and moved both it and the now cloth-wrapped brush into a leather bag on of the Warg-men held for him. The book was moved into the hands of another who held it open to the page specified of him. A signal brought a third Warg-man forward, holding another bag which, due to the movement inside held a live creature, while from the first Roklem retrieved a ceremonial knife and bowl.

If Legolas was curious before, he was becoming very wary now, particularly since he was the only one that was as of yet not blindfolded. His wariness went straight into alarm as his guards prodded him forward until he was at the base of the rise, which he found twisted around before becoming flat at the top, making the easiest way to climb it either to jump straight up or follow the curve around.

He was halted at the base right in front of the shapeshifter. "Well now, Legolas. Have you guessed at all what you are witnessing here?"

Legolas glared at him. "How would I know what you have planned? All I see are some ink-covered carvings in the rise."

"Ah, but do you know just what that ink is? Surely you can see it from here." Legolas turned away from the man and gave the carving closest to him a good look. The ink was dark, but with the light of the full moon on it he could see it wasn't the quite the right color for ink. It wasn't the right texture either. After over two thousand years serving as a warrior in his father's realm Legolas knew full well what that substance really was. It was…

"Blood," he stated grimly. Roklem grinned and held up his wrist for the elf to see, pulling back the sleeve. It was bandaged. "It's my own blood," he stated a little too eagerly for the elf's liking, "necessary when one is planning to do a Blood Rite."

Legolas felt his life fluids run cold. "That's just a vague way of saying you're planning to do a Blood Curse. Those are forbidden!"

Roklem laughed and leaned closer to the by now frightened firstborn. "Only if one is too stupid to control them. And I assure you I'm not. I've had enough practice," he whispered.

"Such arts were destroyed by the Istari centuries ago!"

"Not all, my fair elf, not all." With that Roklem motioned to the man holding the still squirming bag. With a heavily gloved hand the creature pulled out a fox. Not just any fox though, but one of the most unusual Legolas had ever seen. In fact the likes of it he had only seen once, in the days long past when Mirkwood was still known as Greenwood the Great.

It's fur was stormy-silver grey flecked with black, it's underside white like most foxes, except on the upper chest where it was interrupted by the wide band of reddish-gold fur that separated grey and white, racing from where its sides met its back legs to stop at the shoulder and then continue again up the neck to the base of the ears, ensuring that grey never touched white, except on the jaw line. On top of the nose black tear-lines ran from the corner of the eyes to the end of the muzzle where they wrapped in a wide band underneath the jaws, leaving only the very tip white. The back of the ears were red with a grey patch in the middle, and from the back of the neck a black dorsal stripe ran the length of the back and bushy tail, ending at the black tip. The legs were red-gold with a long patch of grey on the front. Black-rimmed amber eyes completed the picture.

"That's a Wood Fox," Legolas breathed, awed at the stunning creature.

"The humans call them 'Grey Foxes' or 'Tree Foxes'. They're quite rare," Roklem said casually as he toyed with the knife in his hands, testing the sharpness of the blade on his thumb. Seemingly satisfied by it he motioned the man to hold the struggling animal over the bowl.

**(Warning, those who get queasy at the sight of ritual gore leave now!)**

Legolas started to struggle against his bonds. "No!" he cried out. Roklem nodded and Faramir and Ossirs' blindfolds were removed just in time for them to witness Roklem plunge his knife into the fox's chest, twisting it and causing more blood to pour from the wound as the dying animal shrieked, its cries haunting and horrible, to Legolas even more so than that of the Ring Wraiths.

"What the—" Faramir and Ossir were at a loss for words, trying desperately to figure out what the point of the slaughter was. They'd both heard whispering, but the exception of Legolas mentioning something being forbidden, Faramir couldn't make the conversation out. Ossir couldn't make anything out for unknown to Legolas he and Roklem had been speaking in elvish the entire time. He'd simply been too focused on what was going on to pay any attention to it.

"You're sick!" Legolas growled, as the fox's struggles ceased and its breathing stopped forever.

"Oh come now, it didn't suffer long," Roklem said as he continued to drain blood from the body.

"It shouldn't have had to suffer at all," Legolas was livid that anyone would dare end the life of such a rare and beautiful creature so brutally, and to top it all off have the audacity to do it right in front of him.

"Too late now." The shapeshifter wiped the blade off on the edge of the bowl and moved closer to the elf. The hands holding him tightened. At that Faramir had had enough. "Touch him and I swear the Valar themselves will not be able to save you."

"Aye. You have my word on that as well," Ossir added.

Roklem glared at him. "Remove the squirrel; take him back to my study for now. Gag the steward."

Legolas moved to protest but the sharp blade at his chest warned otherwise. The cloth was dropped over the briar cage and Ossir was whisked away as Faramir'd blindfold was balled up, shoved into his mouth and secured with another around his head.

"Now then," Roklem motioned for the Warg-man to remove the mail and leather armor. It was a tedious process, considering the elf had to be untied for a short while, but despite his struggles they managed to keep a tight hold on him until it was done and they were able to get his hands bound once more.

Legolas' struggles increased as the blade came closer to his chest, complete terror overtaking him. The hands tightened once more as the man casually and without any ado plunged the knife deep into the immortal's chest, striking his heart and twisting just as he did with the fox.

Faramir screamed through the gag even as Legolas did, while Roklem brought the bowl under the knife, making sure to catch every drop of blood. Legolas' cries continued, despite the overwhelming agony and the swift weakness overtaking him as his life flowed out of him.

When enough blood had been collected Roklem ordered the elf's bond's cut and the brace removed from his leg, his body held horizontal so that no blood could touch the ground once the bowl was moved away. A Warg from the trees came forward and crouched down low, allowing the skeletal man to step up on his back so that the rise, the top of which normally reached a tall man's chin, now came to his chest, allowing him to work more easily.

He took some of the mixed blood, and drew in the center of the flat top of the rise an intricate knot of multiple crescents intertwined within a circle of the same strand as the rest of the design.

Legolas was then lifted up and carefully laid directly on top of the knot, so as not to smudge it, his arms positioned slightly away from his body and his feet half a foot apart. The pain sharpened as he was moved, yet through it all Legolas still somehow had the piece of mind to wonder why he wasn't dead yet. A wound such as this should have killed him by now. Yet all it did thus far was weaken him past being able to struggle or cry out, his screams reduced to mere agonized mewls. Shifting his gaze he gazed at the ceremonial blade still sticking out of his chest.

His head was tilted up and through the haze of pain saw the rim of the blood-filled bowl pressed between his lips, the liquid inside being forced down his throat as it was massaged to encourage swallowing. Legolas tried to spit it back out, but only managed to choke and take more down as he tried to clear his windpipe.

Finally the foul drink was taken away, leaving him with a sick feeling in his gut. When would it end? Why hadn't it already? His body was more than ready to quit and release his spirit to Mandos' Halls. Yet something was stopping it. By now his mind was drifting on the edge of darkness, and he barely registered the knife being shifted until it was pulled out at an angle with a harsh tug, flesh from his very heart being torn away with it. He was brought back for a moment with a scream, as something was pressed into the very depths of the wound. Then the darkness was there, rushing up to take him away.

Roklem knew he had to work swiftly or this would fail. When he ripped out the piece of the elf's heart he was swift to replace it with a piece torn from the fox's, pouring some of the remaining blood into the still bleeding wound. He then stuffed the piece of the elf's heart into the vulpine's wound, and poured the rest of the blood into it.

The fox was then laid out over the elf on its back, each of the legs and the head aligned with Legolas' own limbs. He stepped back, grabbing the book from the Warg-man and began his chant. The key to this spell was that it had to be timed perfectly, or it would only result in the bloody death of both of the creatures participating, rather than one.

The sun had already begun to rise when the preparations were finished. He had to say the last word of the spell at the moment the sunlight broke the horizon, and before the fading elf could breathe his last.

Through the haze the foul words tore, wrenching one last scream from Legolas he didn't even know he had the strength to utter, the last word ringing as the sun's rays broke the horizon, catching him in his elevated position, and everything was enveloped in white.

Faramir was hysterical by now. Tears streamed down his face with abandon. If anyone told him grown men weren't supposed to cry he would have decked them right then and there. No one could watch what was taking place and not be so affected. Not if they were a true friend that is, and Faramir, for all of his seeming mistrust, did count the fair elf from Mirkwood amongst his friends.

The burst of light whirled around the two bodies, then dissipated. Roklem motioned the steward and all but those left on in the woods to depart. Before he was blinded and led away, Faramir managed to steal a glance back at the rise, and gasped. Left behind was not two creatures laid out in death, but one, panting and quivering in shock and fear. There on the rise lay a Grey Fox, but not the same one as they saw be slaughtered. This one looked almost the same, except that its coat shone with a light that no mortal creature could ever achieve. A bandage wound around a hind leg, and a stitched cut was visible above one eye. The bright eyes were a perfect blend of sapphire blue and stormy grey. And running up its muzzle right between those eyes to its forehead, was a vaguely shaped diamond of purest gold.

**TBC…**

**A/N: Well, I said it'd be violent. Sorry if that grossed anyone out but let's face it. Classical myths and legends surrounding witchcraft don't say anything regarding pleasantness for the subjects of said spells. And anyways it actually took me a long time to figure out how I wanted that actual scene to go, but when I thought of that idea I simply couldn't let it go. **

**Okay peeps. Reviewer responses should be up either today or tomorrow, so look for them on the livejournal page. For those of you who didn't know, the grey fox is a real fox, and they really are nic-named tree foxes because they are the only canines that can climb trees. Some of the things said about them in this story will be actual fact, and I'll tell you what facts are real at the end of the chapter. I'm setting up a link to some pics of grey foxes on my bio. I tried to describe them as best as I could, though really it'll never do them justice. Go click on one and see them, they're gorgeous. **

**Oh, and of course, reviews please? I need them after this troublesome chapter.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Okay, anyone who hasn't given up on me probably wants to kill me by now and I can't say you're wrong. A lot went wrong in getting this chapter done, and I sincerely hope it doesn't happen again. So thank you everyone who has given me their support, and now here's your, albeit a tiny bit short, and waaaayyyyyy long overdue new chapter. Which I haven't named, simply because no name came to mind. **

**BTW this chapter has only been partially edited due to my being sick of it not being posted. I will come back and re-post it in its fully edited state later.**

**Disclaimer: Anything owned by Tolkien and New Line Cinemas is not mine, and I'm not making or ever will be making or ever have made any profit off this story. It was done only for the enjoyment of myself and anyone else who ever takes interest in it.**

Chapter 10

After being trapped in a net of brambles for the last several hours, in the form of a squirrel, and also having been forced to watch a good portion of a ritual more ghastly than anything he had ever witnessed in battle, Ossir felt it was safe to say he had had enough. As he was carried to wherever it was the foul man kept his study he thought back to all he had witnessed ere he had been removed from Roklem's ritual site. His heart twisted at the thought of what that man might do to the elf, and his stomach flipped with some of the images his mind conjured.

'_Gods protect him,'_ with that he went back to the task he had set himself when they put the drape over his cage and separated him from the others: gnawing his way through the entwined pieces of thorn branch surrounding him. If he could get one to snap, he should be able to squeeze his small, lean form through. It might cost him some more blood and lost fur, but no more and probably less than if he stayed in his prison.

He ignored then low chatter and bickering of the creatures around him and chewed the branch as best he could. He knew not how much longer until they reached Roklem's lair, and he had no desire to get caught in his act. He thanked Eru that the sun had risen high enough to give him sufficient lighting. Such a luxury came in quite handy, he'd found over the years.

The branch in his mouth was close to breaking. He separated it into a few smaller strands, working them one at a time. As he nipped and bit at the one currently in his mouth he let his senses wander. He hadn't noticed it due to the overwhelming stress of before—he had to snort at that sentiment considering it was far from being over—but now that he had time and opportunity to let his mind wander and rant he noticed just how much his perception of the world had changed. Every scent, sound, and even sight (when his cage wasn't draped over with cloth) was heightened, altered.

Especially now that his predicament had given him the opportunity to end his captivity, he found he was actually grateful. If it meant he was able to free himself and stay alive longer Ossir was perfectly willing to remain a squirrel for at least a short while.

The last piece snapped, and he pulled at the other branches, nipping here and there, trying to get the hole big enough to slip through, but not damage it so that he couldn't hide it to cause confusion when they lifted the cloth and realized the small creature wasn't there.

Once he was confident he could slip through he reached out and grabbed a good handhold before easing his head through. His narrow shoulders, ribcage and abdomen followed suite. His much wider hips worried him for a second, but with a bit of twisting he came free quite suddenly. For a second he hung down by his front paws, until he pulled his hind end up and secured his feet. With one hand he pulled the remaining branches as close together as he could, and used the frayed ends of the one he had chewed through to tie them.

Looking at the end result he was rather pleased. The hole was near the bottom of the net so no one had seen hid form poking out against the covering, and unless one looked closely he was pretty sure his escape route would remain undiscovered for a good amount of time. Craning his head back he watched the ground as it moved past. Here was the moment of truth. He had to jump at just the right moment.

A tree root flashed past, and the squirrel threw caution to the wind and jumped, twisting his body around as he fell. He landed on his front paws and was quick to pull his hind quarters under him and launch himself up onto the trunk. Once he was safely amongst the branches, he turned to look back. His escort, he turned to look back. His escort continued on their course, oblivious to their charge's disappearance.

"Good riddance," he muttered, then looked up at the branches. Considering tree-climbing wasn't a skill he ever boasted of while a human, he assumed that when that shapeshifter changed him, he not only gave him a different form, but the talents and instincts of that form as well. '_Otherwise I'd be on the ground still trying to get up here and attract a lot of attention while failing miserably to do something you'd expect a squirrel to be able to do.'_

He chuckled to himself at the mental image his mind presented of him hopping and clawing madly at the trunk of the tree while various creatures laughed at him, Wargs included, before they plucked him up by the scruff of the neck and dropped him right back in that awful cage. He shuddered at the thought.

"_Once was enough." _

His gaze traveled back the way his guards had come, wondering if he should try to leave the forest and get help for Faramir, or go back and put to ease the lingering feeling of dread he felt as his mind wandered unbidden to the horrible scene he had been taken from ere its conclusion. Could he bear leaving without knowing the outcome?

Ossir sat for a moment. He knew that he should try to find help, but who knew if Roklem had done something terrible to Faramir once through with Legolas? That made up his mind. He had to know at least the fate of one before he could leave.

He crept along the branch, testing his balance. When he could go no further, he carefully gathered himself and jumped. His front feet hit, as did one hind. The other slipped, and he was forced to pause as the wooden limb swayed. He regained control and continued. It was awkward at first to move amongst the trees, but as he had theorized, it began to come second nature within the hour.

The more his confidence grew, the quicker he attempted to move, until he was practically flying through the trees. It was exhilarating! For a moment he forgot the direness of the situation, and simply enjoyed himself. How wondrously free he felt. Could this be how the elves felt when they moved amongst the trees?

His musings were cut off and he stopped short as the word 'elf' crossed his mind. The branch swung with the sudden shift in momentum. '_Legolas…'_

Ossir looked around, but of course did not recognize any of his surroundings. He couldn't even be sure he hadn't strayed off course while he had been lost in his thoughts and the strange new freedom he had found from being in the form of a squirrel. Even an attempt at utilizing his heightened sense of smell did little good. All he could smell was a more intense version of Warg, and forest, and other things he could not define. There was one smell, however, that had his fur curling and his bushy tail twitching in fear, though he did not know why.

Something, some sixth sense, told him to jump, and had he not followed it his life would have ended. A dark form streaked past, screaming angrily at having been found out. Back it came after breaking it momentum and wheeling away from the ground. "Foolissh ssqirrel," the hawk hissed. "Do not think you will get away."

Ossir wasted no time in creeping up into the higher branches, careful to stay as flat as he could and not shake them overmuch. When he was close enough he took a flying leap into the next tree. The hawk however was not stupid enough not to try looking in the other trees in the immediate vicinity, so the squirrel's flight was hampered as he played a twisted version of cat and mouse with the creature. Eventually he did manage to get a bit of a lead away from the raptor.

And made his first mistake as a prey animal trying to outsmart a predator.

In the transition from one tree to the next he overestimated the distance between branches, and nearly fell entirely out of the tree as the twigs under his feet gave way, and Ossir fell more than a couple feet before he managed to grab something better able to hold his weight.

The hawk's vision zeroed in on him, and the avian swooped down screeching.

With his hold as precarious already and no chance of pulling himself up and out of the way before he became lunch, Ossir instead took the only other option available to him.

He continued his fall.

Letting go of the branch he had the momentary satisfaction of being able to watch the persistent raptor fly straight into the sharp branches, before it occurred to him that there was nothing underneath him to grab onto. He felt the sickening sensation of seeing the ground rush up at him, and then it was there. The wind was driven from his lungs, and for a moment his vision went dark. Detachedly he observed the hawk disentangle itself from the tree, scratches all over his nares and feathers torn and broken in places, and a fading screech drifted to him as the avian closed his wings tight to his ribs and plunged towards him.

It never even occurred to the squirrel that he was about to die. As his vision faded to black it seemed to him that he saw a lean, shadowy figure jump from somewhere to his right, rising to meet the hawk, as unconsciousness finally took him away.

The last thing Legolas remembered was seeing white. Pure, blinding white. Convinced it was the shores of Valinor and that he would be free of the horrible pain tearing through him, twisting him like leaves it an Autumn breeze, he simply said a general, sorrowed farewell to his friends and family left on Arda, and resigned himself to death.

To his horror, the light faded abruptly, the first feeble rays of dawn in its place. He was still lying on the same rise as before, the pain fading into the shadows of memory. He shifted, for some reason lying on his back felt strange to him. Rolling to his side he became aware of the fact that instead of the familiar feel of elven garb rubbing against his skin, he felt soft fibers. Fibers that pulled at his skin when rubbed against the surface beneath him. The gears began to grind back into motion as the disorienting after effects of the spell wore off. Opening his eyes he saw Roklem's face contorted as he grinned like a fool. Quickly turning away to spare himself that particularly disturbing sight, he looked away, thinking that assessing the damage to himself was a far better pastime.

He wondered if perhaps he'd thought wrong.

The body that he saw when he looked down at himself was not his; it was that of a Grey Fox. For a moment he froze, wondering if it was all just a bad dream. To prove to himself it wasn't real he tried to pinch himself, but to no avail. Not only could those paws not move like hands, but the sharp tips of the claws scratching against his other foreleg felt too real to be a dream.

His head snapped up. "What did you do to me!"

Well, at least his voice still worked.

Roklem's grin faded to a smirk. "I would think that would be fairly obvious, my friend."

Legolas snarled, bearing his teeth, not caring for the moment how animalistic the action was. "Change me back!" he demanded.

"Oh, I don't think so. Besides, you hardly need me for that, Foxy," Roklem closed his book with a snap, turned, and began to walk away, the Wargs following him.

The callous nickname set the already fuming vulpine's blood to a boil. With a low growl he brought himself up into a crouch and sprang, landing on the sorcerer's back and unsheathed his new claws fully, digging them into his back even as he sunk his now razor-sharp teeth into the skin at the junction of the man's shoulder and neck.

Roklem screamed and twisted, reaching behind him and grabbing the scruff of the fox's neck. By the time the Wargs nearest them even took a step to help their master Legolas was flung to the ground, Roklem's fingers cutting off his windpipe.

"I would think twice before doing that again, _Fox_—he stressed the word—I may have reasons for keeping you alive now, but do not think for a moment that I won't change my mind if you push me," his hand tightened. "Understand?"

Legolas could barely move, his now much smaller body not much of a match for the human. Somehow he managed a nod, and found his breath returned as the punishing fingers left his throat. Coughing a little, he forced himself to his feet and faced the human, who already was walking away once again. "What do you mean, that I don't need you to change back?"

"Be at the clearing before moonrise and I'll show you," the human called over his shoulder. The Wargs flanking him snarled as they passed by, making it clear beyond all doubt what would happen if Legolas tried to press the matter with their master any further, particularly if he went the more violent route of pursuit as he had a moment ago.

The fox growled back. He knew better than to attack again. If nightfall would bring answers then he'd be patient and show up at the clearing again as instructed. For now though he was determined to at least remind these despicable excuses for canines that he wasn't afraid of them.

Bounding a couple short steps to the nearest Warg he leapt nimbly up onto the creature's back. Before it even had time to turn its head he had jumped onto its muzzle and used it as a platform to leap into the nearest tree. For a moment his confidence wavered as he realized that in his new form he'd slightly misjudged the distance to the branch closest to him. It was returned though as his claws came out again and he simply used them to anchor himself a foothold to climb the rest of the way.

The Warg's mind finally processed the fox's actions and it bayed in protest, whirling and jumping repeatedly at the tree's trunk, further infuriated that no matter its efforts, Legolas was already well out of its reach.

Legolas' mouth twitched as he tried to smirk. It didn't quite work, since a fox's muzzle is not meant to carry such an expression, but his eyes got the point across apparently well enough because the Warg understood it well enough to attempt to try tearing the tree down, which it quite well could achieve if it was allowed the chance. The tree was not so big and old to be immune to such danger.

Fortunately such was not to be the case, as Roklem apparently hadn't changed his mind on keeping the former elf alive. At a snap of his fingers three more Wargs about-faced and returned to retrieve their comrade. One ran full tilt into the creature while it was mid-leap, and the others snapped and snarled at its heels. Legolas watched fascinated as it actually acquiesced to the others' demands to leave. Apparently the dominant and submissive labels given to members of a normal wolf pack applied to Wargs as well. To control all of them one merely need control the pack members who were the most dominant, and use them to command the submissive ones, as the one trying to get to the fox apparently was.

Legolas had encountered Wargs many a time, but they were either in a pack or had orcs riding them. Never had he encountered a large number of them being commanded by a single human. He filed the information away for future reference. Once he found a way back to Gondor, anything he found out while here could be used against their new enemies later.

Once the group was gone, Legolas moved to sit down, and was hit with the realization of just what he'd done, and what kind of predicament he faced if he couldn't change back to his true form.

Like this he'd never be able to be of any aid to Aragorn. First off, he couldn't fight in this state. His short-lived attack on Roklem was proof enough. And without his accustomed height he couldn't be anyone's eyes either. Maybe in some situations, but surely now he'd discover times where being this close to the ground would become a detriment he couldn't avoid. Not only that, but how difficult would it be for him to get into the palace? Or even just through the city? And even if he could get near anyone he knew, how could he make them believe it was him? Could they still understand his voice, or was it only Roklem, being the one who cast the spell, who was capable of interpreting his speech?

And what about his behavior just now? True he'd never been faced with such a thing as being transformed into an animal, but just how much of that animal's instincts and mannerisms did he take on? He had to have taken on some, considering the stunts he'd just pulled, but where they just something incorporated in with his usual elvish mannerisms and instincts, or could they possibly take over those with time and use, or something equally as dreadful. Would they stay once he'd changed back, or would they disappear?

And why a fox? What did Roklem stand to gain by changing him into a fox, then leaving him to roam around free? And how did Faramir, Ossir, and the Haradrim figure in? Roklem said he'd only wanted the Steward, so why go through all the trouble and separate to keep both Ossir and himself when only he was needed to control Faramir?

Somewhere in the whirlwind Legolas' thoughts had become, his mind registered the cry of a hawk. Automatically, his ears went from half mast, to fully perked. Looking up, turned his head in the direction the sound came from.

Through the trees he saw a grey squirrel leap to avoid a hawk's attack and miss the branch it was aiming for, giving a very human yell as it fell.

TBC…

**A/N: Finally that's done. Review responses will be on my Livejournal page probably tomorrow night, since I've got a wicked headache and don't know how much longer I can stay awake. Once again I apologize for the ridiculously long wait in between updates, and I can assure you that it won't happen again, even if I have to post one page chapters. Not that I will if I can at all avoid it. Nevertheless, once again I thank all of you for your wonderful reviews that kept me from abandoning this when it became a serious consideration at one point. You all rock.**

**Keep sending them. **


	12. Guilt and Confusion

**A/N: For those of you who now think I'm incapable of getting another chapter out within two or three months, this is to prove you all wrong. _/GRIN/_ And to make you all even more pleased, I've decided to put myself on a stricter deadline with the whole ever-unreliable updating thing. _/readers groan thinking 'here we go again, another three month's wait/ _No, seriously. From now on I'm giving myself two weeks to write a chapter. Whatever I have done will be posted every other Sunday. Perhaps if I'm a little tougher on myself this story will actually begin to get somewhere, ne? (Japanese for 'yes', I believe). **

**In other news I am considering, for those of you who haven't read the recent entries in my livejournal, changing the name of this fic. Someone commented that they didn't love the name 'Sindarin Fox' a while ago, and truth be told there are times when I wonder if it still fits the fic as well as I originally thought. **

**So thanks to my roommate, _/huggles roommate/_, I now have a possible new name for this fic. I told my roommate what it was that this fic was about, and how it was inspired by the line 'things aren't always as they seem'. In response, she came up with the name 'Illusion's Face', which I have to say I very much like. However, before I change it I would like to hear feedback from you guys, basically 'To change, or not to change'. If you have your own ideas regarding new names for the fic, feel free to add those in too. I'll be deciding whether or not to change it before the next post, and if I do change it, the change will be made when I post chapter 14, just to give you all fair warning. **

**And now, without further adieu, I give you… chapter 11.**

**Chapter 11: Guilt and Confusion**

Legolas didn't even stop to think before he simply leapt twenty feet from his perch to the ground. Being raised in the greatest forest still in existence in Arda such a thing was fairly commonplace in his life. Landing first on his front paws and then on his hind before bounding off was a new experience, yet he paid it little mind as his consciousness became focused on one thing and one alone.

Get the bird before it got the squirrel.

Swifter than he'd ever moved before in his life he suddenly found himself intercepting the raptor's flight path, vaguely registering that it was too swift even for an elf to have run, before once again his mind was overcome by another new experience: the crunch of bones and the taste and feel of feathers, flesh and blood in his mouth as he leapt into the air and his jaws slammed shut on the creature's wing. Giving his head a quick and violent twist first to the right and then left, he could feel and hear more bones snapping and flesh tearing as the bird was yanked from the air and found itself thrown to the ground. Another twist and the wing tore clear off. Legolas felt a very strange satisfaction as he dropped it and pinned the shrieking, struggling hawk.

The warmth of the creature's blood and the taste of fresh meat was intoxicating, alluring, and oh so wonderful. Its dying screams as it succumbed to its fate further fueled his sense of triumph.

Now the mind as we all know, is a very funny thing. Often times whether we wish it or not it will simply go off on its own little tangents and not return from wherever it has randomly wandered off to until the most embarrassing or frightful moment the subconscious can perceive as occurring. Somewhere during the time between his initial attack on the hawk and his present mauling of it, Legolas' mind got sidetracked from his original goal of 'Save the Falling Squirrel', to 'Reduce Attacking Hawk into Fox-food'. Thus it was that exactly what he was doing didn't even occur to him, until a nagging little voice in his mind began screaming at him to stop it.

Legolas pointedly ignored it. Whatever anonymous bit of bird he was currently chewing on tasted rather good at the moment, and he was intent on finishing his meal. The voice, however, did not go away. Instead it grew continually louder until it finally occurred to him that it wasn't coming from inside his head, but that it was another creature shouting at him. He also realized that whoever it was had their paws—complete with sharp little claws—in a rather tight grip in the fur at his right shoulder. Now, for the life of him he couldn't understand just what they were saying, and was thus beginning to get just a bit annoyed. He growled a warning at them. They better not think to steal his prey, or they'd find themselves nursing several nasty wounds.

When the shouting insisted on persisting, he dropped his meal and whirled on the irritating creature, snarling and snapping his jaws at it. But when the frightened looking squirrel standing next to him fell back with a yell from an all-too familiar voice, everything slammed back into perspective almost fast enough to cause him to drop from the sheer shock of it all.

Ossir thought he was dead. He really did. First a hawk decided he'd make a good meal, then this psycho fox decided to maim the hawk and then growled at him like he was going to eat him next. Wonderful. There always was a bigger fish, and now he'd just pissed the bigger fish off.

Yet he'd had a very good reason to. Those eyes, even clouded with rage and bloodlust as they'd been, he'd recognized. After these last few days he didn't think anything could make him forget them.

And of course his newly-developed sense of smell had confirmed it for him as well.

The fox suddenly froze, a look nothing short of horrified on his face as realization dawned on him. Ossir reached a tiny paw out to him cautiously. "Legolas?"

The poor vulpine started shaking violently, wide eyes darting back and forth from the ex-human to the bloody and tattered remains of the hawk. Ossir realized that his friend was going into shock, and determined to get him to snap out of it lest that psycho of a human came back to haunt them once again. Ignoring the blood practically dripping from the fur, he reached up and grabbed the fox's muzzle, firmly pulling it close to him and forcing Legolas to look him in the eye. "Now you listen to me. We're going to leave and find someplace where we can get cleaned up and rest, got it?"

The silver vulpine nodded. He was still a bit dazed, but his shaking wasn't getting any worse and the familiar voice gave him something he could anchor himself to. "Good, now follow me."

Ossir took off through the underbrush, knowing that the fox would follow him. He didn't look back, knowing that it might give Legolas a reason to glance back at the hawk's corpse again, which wouldn't do anyone any good.

Legolas knew not to look back either. He didn't want to see what remained of the hawk. He knew what he'd done, and with his elven memory he'd have a perfect picture of it any and every time he thought of it from now until the end of his existence. Instead he focused stubbornly on Ossir, and on forcing his legs to carry him after the small creature.

As Aragorn made his way through his home something suddenly dawned upon him.

He'd let a complete stranger call him by his birth-name, something only close and trusted friends or family were allowed. And he'd given him permission to call him by said name as though it were the most natural thing in the world!

'_What in the world was that about?'_

Truly, he couldn't explain it. The best his mind could come up with was that the kid had looked absolutely terrified beyond all reason of him, and he'd automatically taken whatever measure seemed effective in putting him at ease.

'_But why?'_ It wasn't as if the young soldier was of any real consequence to him. He'd delivered his message, and as soon as he was rested he'd be sent back to his duties. If he was lucky he'd meet up with the king maybe twice more in his career at most unless he managed to gain a more lofty position as an officer or became one of the personal guard of one of the royal family. Beyond such things occurring, they'd more than likely never cross paths again. So again, he asked himself, why the excessive need to make the boy feel so comfortable around him?

Unfortunately no answer came, and instead of continued musing on the subject, Aragorn found himself forced to execute a particularly abrupt turn and sidestep to avoid tripping and falling head-over-heels, which anyone would agree was a very un-kingly thing to do.

Once he'd regained his balance after a moment of wondering whether or not he'd end up on his rear despite his efforts, the king turned a questioning glare on the particularly unhappy dwarf who had been standing silently in his way, and had nearly caused him said very embarrassing fall.

"What is it Gimli," he asked, arms crossed to show he was impatient and wanted his answer quick.

"Where is he, Aragorn?" the dwarf responded, equally impatient for his answer.

"Who?" the man was fairly confused for a moment, until the smaller being's next words gave him an answer that should have been obvious in the first place.

"Legolas. Where is he?"

The former ranger cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean? Legolas is in Linhinenet. You know that."

"Wrong, and you know it," Gimli countered. "Wherever trouble is, that elf goes with it. The walls have ears, you know, and rumor travels fast. Rumors that Faramir has been taken by someone, and that a young lad showed up on Legolas' horse are racing through the halls amongst the servants. And to find you stomping through the halls looking as though you just found an orc in your bed proves that there has to be at least a shred of truth to said rumors."

Aragorn would have chuckled if his worry over his friend and Steward wasn't nagging at him so badly. However he knew better than to expect Gimli to simply step aside and leave him to his own devices. If Faramir was truly taken, the dwarf would be worried enough. If there was even a chance that Legolas might be involved in said kidnapping, a dragon wouldn't stop him from marching straight over to the town to make sure the elf was okay. And if Legolas were taken…

He shuddered. Even an Uruk Hai would have to pity the culprit of such an act, once both dwarf and elf were finished with them. Not to mention he'd have his own bone to pick with whatever creature dared threaten one of his closest friends, especially since Gesan had said that Legolas had been injured.

The sound of said dwarf clearing his throat brought him back to the present situation. He sighed. "A strange hawk arrived bearing news that Faramir was currently the guest of the creature's master, and that he would return when their business with one another was concluded. He would not say who his master was, nor what specifically his business with Faramir was. When asked he said that we would find out when we were meant to find out and we were not to try and find him. He said nothing in regards to Legolas."

"Well then, I suggest you and I go and see just what has become of them, shall we?" Gimli made an abrupt turn and began his march in the direction of the stables. "Come on Aragorn," he called back. "You and I both know that whatever it is they'll need our help getting out of it."

This time Aragorn couldn't suppress his laughter as he followed the stout warrior. His conscious was kicking him a bit over not telling Gimli that the elf had reportedly been injured, but he reasoned with himself that should he reveal such knowledge to the dwarf, said dwarf would drive them both to madness with his worrying ere they left the city.

He found himself laughing again when they arrived at the stables. Gimli strode in as though he were about to take over the world, and then faltered and came to a dead stop in the middle of the aisle.

"What's wrong my friend?" he tried to suppress his amusement, bordering on complete failure the entire time.

The dwarf coughed, shifting uncomfortably as he cleared his throat.

"Well?" the king prompted.

"I—urm…" Gimli's fidgeting worsened, as he tried to voice the reason for his suddenly indecisive behavior without causing himself embarrassment that he knew for a fact that the man would find some way to keep him from forgetting for a very, very long time.

And considering that said man was of Numenorian blood, it could be quite a long time indeed. Possibly the rest of his natural life.

By now Aragorn was nearly suffocating with the effort of trying to drag this incredibly humorous scenario out, and decided that it really wasn't fair to either Faramir or Legolas to keep them waiting—possibly in the hands of a madman, for all they knew—simply so he could poke fun at the dwarf.

"Is it perhaps that you're wondering what you'll do in the way of a horse, Mr. Only-fools-ride-such-beasts, or that in your hurry to leave you left us no time to stop in our respective quarters or the kitchens to retrieve provisions for the trip?"

For the life of him Estel couldn't remember ever seeing the dwarf turn such a vibrant shade of red.

"Well…" he cleared his throat once more, trying desperately to search for some chance of redemption.

Said redemption, arrived in the form of laughing voices behind them. Aragorn and Gimli both turned to see the Lady Arwen, along with the three hobbits, striding towards them. In her hands Arwen held packs and saddlebags fully stocked for several weeks of journeying, as well as the pair's Lorien cloaks. Frodo hung back at the door a moment, looking a bit uncertain, before joining Merry and Pippin in extracting Merry's pony from his stall and giving it a quick brush-off ere tacking it.

"And just what are you doing?" Aragorn couldn't help but ask, though it seemed obvious by virtue of the bulging saddlebags the hobbit was fixing to his saddle.

"Why, coming with you of course," Merry replied. "Just me though, Frodo and Pippin are going to stay in the city.

"Oh?" Aragorn cocked an eyebrow at the other two standing next to him.

"Well, yes. Frodo isn't too keen on going out to a battlefield just yet, and I wouldn't want him to feel lonely, so he and I are going to help out Gandalf with whatever he and that lad who's with him are looking for," Pippin said.

"I'm certain he'd welcome that," Aragorn nodded, wondering yet again about the boy, and his own strange behavior around the young soldier.

Arwen in the meantime, had waved the stable boys off and slipped into Roheryn's stall to ready the stallion herself. True to elven swiftness, she had him fully ready to go by the time the others were finished speaking. She handed Aragorn the reins and his cloak, before giving Gimli his. Merry and Pippin were arguing over some such nonsense regarding what was to be done with whatever they'd apparently been baking the night before, while Frodo tried to hide his uneasiness by putting all effort into removing every speck of dust that could be found upon the pony, even though such efforts would be wasted as soon as the animal was on the road.

"Now then," Arwen said, looking the group over. "I think you're all set. Well, almost," she laughed, and turned to Gimli. "And just what horse will you be riding, Master Dwarf?"

Gimli frowned at her teasing tone, but all the same gave the question the serious thought it required. Normally he would ride with Legolas, but with the elf absent, he doubted he would be making the trip with the same ease he usually did. "I could ride with Aragorn, but with saddlebags that full, the two of us, plus the weight of my armor, 'twoud more likely slow us up than anything else."

The two royals nodded in response, as he continued. "I see that Arod has indeed come back to us, but without Legolas I doubt I could control the beast, and unless my eyes are deceiving me he looks a bit too tuckered to carry me willingly."

Indeed Arod seemed to agree, throwing his head up and pinning his ears at the stout creature, an angry whinny and a hard stomp of his foot warning all of the dire consequences should anyone (with the exception of his elf, of course) even approach him with the idea of traveling at the present time.

"Indeed," Gimli nodded. "Then that leaves me with two options, either find another horse and hope I survive the trip, or ask the hobbits if they'd allow me the use of one of their ponies."

"You could use mine," Frodo spoke up. Merry's pony was ready, and he'd been listening to the dwarf reasoning out his options. He walked over to the mare's stall, and led her out into the aisle. The animal was dark bay, and though obviously a pony was still plenty big enough to carry the dwarf and all his armor without slowing everyone down.

"That'll do," Gimli agreed.

As soon as the pony was saddled they all left the stable. Aragorn looked to the sky and noted that more storm clouds were gathering overhead. Continued foul weather would be a nuisance, but would also give them a perfectly good excuse to wear their hoods. The last thing the king wanted was for people to take note that the king was leaving the city, especially since it would worsen whatever rumors were already flying around, and probably lead to his advisors chewing him out about leaving without an armed escort sooner than they would if he left unnoticed.

Merry hopped up onto his plucky little grey gelding, chatting with Pippin while he waited for the others. Aragorn took a moment to pull Arwen in for a hug and farewell kiss. "We shouldn't be gone too long," he said.

Arwen snorted. "Oh, really? Well, in the almost certain event that you do end up being gone for weeks or months, I've packed you enough supplies to see you through a good portion of the trip. Anything else you'll have to hunt."

Aragorn laughed. "And it is much appreciated, my dear. But seriously I will try not to disappear into oblivion this time."

His wife smiled again and shook her head. "I know you will. I just also know that more often than not your enemies have vastly different ideas, so I won't hold it against you unless you never come home at all."

"So long as I have such loyal and steadfast companions at my side, I very much doubt that likely to happen," he chuckled. With one final embrace the Lady of Gondor stepped back, and Aragorn leaped into the saddle of a by now very impatient Roheryn.

Gimli was also attempting to mount Frodo's mare, named 'Remy'. The creature, while calm and complacent in the stable, was fidgety and high strung now that she was outdoors. He managed to get his foot into the stirrup, only to have to put it swiftly back on the ground or be flipped onto his back as she shied away.

"What's wrong with her?" he demanded, as she gave a loud whinny. In response another shrill cry and the pounding of a hoof against wood came from within the stable.

Frodo sighed. "I was hoping this wouldn't happen. Normally Bill's so calm you would forget he was still a stallion, which is why he was never gelded. However since he met Remy on our way here from Hobbiton, he's become infatuated with her. He even reared up on Sam! And Remy shares the sentiment. She gets all irritated whenever she's not near him. She settles down once she gets far enough away from him though," he added encouragingly.

"Wonderful," Gimli grumbled. "The elf disappears and I get stuck with the lovesick and possibly homicidal mare."

"Here, let me see if I can help," Arwen walked over and took hold of Remy's reins. The mare tugged fretfully at them, as the queen began speaking to her in the grey tongue. She began stroking the mare's neck, as the pony slowly began to settle down and stopped calling for Bill. A few minutes later, she stood quietly. Arwen smiled. Diminished though her connection with the world around her was, her blood was still elven and she still maintained enough elf-like qualities so as to allow her to maintain something of the life she'd had before she'd made her Choice. It was something for which she was ever grateful, for though she did not regret her Choice in the slightest and had known exactly what it was she was giving up, she was certain that to be cut off from everything she once was would have in some way or another crushed her.

She nodded to the dwarf who stood to the side waiting patiently, and continued to speak to the mare as Gimli once again put his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up onto her back. Arwen handed the reins back to him and stepped away.

Remy stood quietly, if a little forlorn. Her rider sighed in relief. "I thank you for your aid, fair Lady," Gimli said, tipping his helm to her in gratitude.

Arwen nodded in return. "It was my pleasure Master Dwarf, and now I think you should all be off."

"Yes we should," Aragorn agreed. He gave Roheryn a nudge with his heels, and the horse gladly trotted off, the two ponies falling in close behind. Arwen, Pippin and Frodo stood in the stable yard and watched them until they were out of sight.

"Well, then," Pippin said, turning back towards the palace. "Let's get some breakfast and see what Gandalf's up to."

Faramir was decidedly miserable as they dragged him along. The part of his mind that was dominated by his training and living as a ranger told him that the terrain was changing, becoming more rocky, and that it probably meant that they were a good distance now from where they'd left Legolas with that psychopath. Said instincts also told him that it was now well into morning, and that judging by the increased excited-ness of his canine companions, they were probably getting close to whatever hole in the ground that nutcase called his home.

Faramir told his instincts to shut up and go jump off a cliff. He really didn't care where they were or what they were going to do to him at the moment. All he cared about was the fact that Legolas was quite probably dead right now, and it was entirely his fault. He was the one Roklem wanted, not Legolas. Yet it had been the elf that suffered.

Of course rational would have said that it wasn't his fault, that Roklem was a sick bastard and could have just as easily done that to anyone else if making a point had been his goal, and that there had to have been another reason for the spectacle he knew would haunt him sleeping and waking for years, if not the rest of his life.

But the steward wasn't thinking rationally right now. Roklem could have come and tortured him to death at that very moment and he'd still be guilt tripping himself over Legolas' fate.

And what killed him the most was thinking back to his treatment of the elf the last few days. He'd been rude and distrustful, had treated Legolas like a fighting and information gathering machine, had exploited the prince's talents and not even been half as concerned that he'd gotten hurt in the process as he was of obtaining more information from him, and when Legolas had once again stepped up to his defense and come to help him even while injured, he'd gotten him captured and killed in one of the sickest ways the seasoned warrior had ever seen.

The prince hadn't deserved that. And instead of living happily in the peace he'd help earn for these lands until the day he decided to sail for Valinor, his immortal life had been cut off for no good reason whatsoever. Faramir didn't know how he could ever face himself, let alone Aragorn, Gimli and the rest of his friends, knowing that.

The guards at his side yanked him to a halt. He brought his head up, though he obviously couldn't see with the blindfold on, and waited as the Wargs seemed to be discussing something in their low, gravelly voices.

Apparently their discussion was over nothing that took much time to decide on, or did not pertain to him, for a moment later he found himself being dragged along once again.

The wisp of cool air was all the warning he got before he found himself plunged into gloom. He shivered. One need not be an elf to know that this place was thoroughly evil, and for a moment he forgot entirely about Legolas and wondered what dark and horrible things had been done that could have given the cave such a ghastly aura.

The ranger in him tried to keep track of how long they traveled down a particular corridor, and what turns they made, and whether they went right or left; but in the end he was forced to admit defeat, as it became too much to keep up with. The only thing he could make out, however, was that they were descending deeper into the ground.

After what seemed like forever, the group came to a stop once more. Faramir heard the creaking of a very rusty and not often used lock turning, and then the sound of equally ill-cared for hinges. Then he was being shoved forward with enough force to send him to the ground. He heard a growl from one of the guards, and another answering back.

The door slammed shut, and footsteps could be heard fading away. Was it his imagination, or did he hear a faint snickering as well?

Apparently it wasn't, as the sounds got louder as whatever was making them got closer.

Something large and hairy brushed up against his leg. Faramir jerked, not sure of what it was and not certain he wanted to find out.

Hot breath hit his ear, and a soft voice said, "I think I'm going to enjoy having company again."

**TBC…**

**A/N: So: Legolas is miserable, Frodo's mare is lonely, Gimli and Aragorn are worried and not realizing that two small riders on ponies following a tall man on a huge stallion isn't exactly inconspicuous, Faramir's got a new cellmate, Arwen's enjoying being Dr. Dolittle, Frodo really doesn't like the thought of war brewing again, and Gandalf's going to have to put up with Pippin and all his eternal blundering even when he doesn't mean to blunder. _/grin/ _And that isn't even half the chap! Grrrrr. I hate where it ended. I had more planned out for this chap, but the muse escaped and ran off to somewhere-over-the-rainbow (if you find her please beat her over the head and send her back), and in order to keep with my new update schedule, I couldn't wait for her to come back. So, sadly, the chapter had to be cut short. It should have been posted last night, but I fell asleep so oops. _/sheepish grin/_ **

**But anyways, the next chapter will be posted no later than March 12. Though due to the fact I had the whole second half of this planned out—and up until this evening total cooperation from the muse—I really don't see why it should take that long to be finished. Unless college decides it wants to wreck my updating as well.**

**But, I digress. Review responses are on my livejournal page, just follow the link in my bio, you know the drill. **

**Don't forget to review, and please do let me know what you think of the name Illusion's Face for this fic. **

**Thank you all and see you in a couple weeks. (Seriously.)**


	13. Interlude To Night

**A/N: Well I promised you an update, and here it is. Pathetically short little thing isn't it? I completely forgot a little class of mine that only meets for two weeks each half of the semester (for a grand total of four weeks) and adds three hours onto my day during the week, and meets weekend days for five hours with a two to two and a half lunch break. So in short, writing time's been scarce, but I manage to give you something, even though it's being posted at 12:09 in the morning on the 13th, rather than the 12. **

**And for those of you reading my muse's newest piece of boredom-induced insanity, Where Will You Go, the next update will be no later than the 19th.**

**And now, I give you your chapter. **

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Chapter 13: Interlude to Night

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Gandalf wasn't going to kill Pippin. Really, he wasn't.

Said hobbit came into view carrying a stack of books far too tall and heavy for him to possibly be able to handle. He danced from side to side on the balls of his feet as the stack rocked back and forth, threatening to fall. Gesan, who was reaching up to take down a text that had caught his eye, was forced to press himself against the bookcase as flat as his body could become in order to avoid the hobbit as he staggered by.

At the table situated off to one side of the room Gandalf, Arwen and Frodo sat, each with several texts around them. "Just what are we looking for again, Gandalf?" Frodo couldn't help but ask.

"Anything to do with magic, my boy. In particular the art of shape-changing, and giving animals the ability to speak tongues other than their own."

"Is that what you think that bird was, Mithrandir?" Arwen queried, as she set one book aside and reached for another. "A creature in disguise?"

"I have my suspicions," the wizard murmured as a particular passage caught his eye, and he tilted the book up so his old eyes could see it better.

"But I thought Saruman and Sauron were the only ones who would do such a thing, and they're both dead," Pippin gasped as he finally managed to join them. Arwen's and Frodo's eyes widened as they saw the load he was carrying, and jumped up to help him.

Sadly, however, their efforts were too late, as the young hobbit finally lost control completely, and tripped. The heavy tomes went flying, several of them straight at the wizard, who was too engrossed within the book he held to realize the danger.

"Pippin!" Frodo yelled, as he reached out and grabbed his cousin by the shirt collar, holding him mere inches from falling flat on his face, while Arwen dove across the table. "Mithrandir!"

The White Wizard started and looked up just in time to see a particularly heavy book coming right for his head, but before he could make a move to dodge or deflect it a pale hand came into view from his right, and the tome in his hands was ripped from them and slammed back onto the table. As she landed on top of Gandalf's book, the volume still heading for his face came within her reach, and the Evenstar grasped it, stopping its flight ere it could strike her old friend.

"Nice catch, my Lady," Gesan congratulated as he joined them. Arwen smiled faintly as she let the book fall harmlessly to the floor, and slid off the top of the table, straightening her dress and her hair as she stood, making herself look presentable once more.

"Confound it, Peregrin Took!" Gandalf yelled as he glared at the small hobbit who was busy gathering up the fallen texts with Frodo's help. "After everything that you encountered during the war I would have thought that you'd have learned a little sense, to say the least!"

"My apologies sir," Pippin murmured, as he set the now gathered books on the table. "I was only trying to bring all the books I thought would be of use from the eastern section."

"Well next time bring them a few at a time rather than all at once, and we won't have a repeat of this mess."

"Yes, Gandalf," at the wizard's nod of acceptance, they all sat down and began to read once more. Out of the corner of his eye, Gandalf watched Gesan. How the boy interacted with those around him, how he was affected by them; how they were by him. The more he observed, the more he became certain that his initial assessment of the young lad was correct. He had only one more test, before it was proven beyond all doubt, and should his suspicions prove correct, the young human's life was going to take quite a drastic turn indeed.

Pippin, in the meantime, had gotten comfortable by leaning his chair back on two legs, and bracing it by placing his feet against the table's edge. His knees began to get tired with the angle they had to apply force against the table at, so he straightened them a bit.

And promptly the chair overbalanced and fell backwards, sending book and hobbit flying backwards into the nearest bookcase with a crash. The force was just sufficient enough to send the bookcase toppling over into the one behind it. Books and paper flew everywhere, as everyone just stared in amazed and horrified fascination.

Gandalf groaned and put his head in his hand, suddenly too tired to support it.

He wasn't going to kill Pippin, really he wasn't. Just hurt him a little.

With his hearing being what it now was, Ossir had little trouble finding a water source for the two of them. Ever was there the sound of a waterfall, and quite a large one at that, for the closer he got the more it deafened him. Periodically he would glance back to make certain Legolas was still with him, and once gave himself a considerable fright when he looked back to find the blood-covered fox practically standing over him.

After that Legolas put more distance between them, and as the morning wore on the squirrel began to get increasingly worried. The fox spoke not a word, and the fire in his eyes seemed dimmed, as though he wasn't really all there. Ossir recognized that look, he'd seen it enough times in young warriors the first time they encountered a battlefield, and became privy to the full extent of the carnage found there. Their minds would become fixated on that one horrible image, and they were oblivious to all else. If not properly cared for, some would loose their nerve completely, never to get it back again.

Ossir could see that within the fox's eyes. He couldn't fathom that he could cause such damage using no more that speed, teeth, and claws, and was scared of himself. Frightened of what he was capable of doing should he be in his right mind when he attacked, rather than driven by blind instinct.

'_And wise he is for that. Small though they may be, foxes are fierce hunters and survivors. And just as fear can keep a soldier alive on the battlefield, it can help the two of us to stay alive and hopefully get out of this mess alive as well. Now I need only to get him to see that.'_

It was as he was thinking this that they came to their destination. The trees opened up, and Legolas couldn't help but think himself a fool for not recognizing where they were sooner. Nen Hithoel, the massive lake formed behind the natural dam caused by Tol Brandir, splayed out before them like a watery gem underneath the late morning sky. Its peaceful lapping against the shores of Parth Galen was a soothing balm to the terror his actions had bestowed upon him. He now finally heard clearly the trees behind him whispering, welcoming him back.

His spirits brightened, and he leapt passed his companion and bounded into the water, splashing and playing in the cool current as the blood and stress washed away, and with them for the moment his cares and worries.

Ossir watched him, smiling as best as his new form would allow as he watched the antics of the immortal. Was Legolas still immortal as he was? Ossir decided that for the moment it didn't matter, as the fair being enjoyed the brief respite he'd been given. Such things could be addressed later, he mused, as for now it was best they enjoy what time they were given to enjoy, before the pressures and uncertainties and problems presented to them demanded attention once more.

Bounding to the water's edge he began to wade in after the vulpine. "Ack, 'tis cold! How can you stand this?"

"I don't care, that's how, picky squirrel!" Legolas called from where he was now swimming into deeper water.

"Flighty creature, get back here before you're swept off over the falls!"

Laughter was all he received in response. Eventually he did get to swim, when Legolas decided he was tired of Ossir's slow acclimation to the water and picked him up and gave him a thorough dunking before having to promptly return to deeper water to avoid being tackled and bit by the irate creature.

They stayed that way for much of the day. For Legolas it was a means to regain his composure and inner peace. For Ossir it was a way to pass the time in a more constructive way than pointless brooding. There was nothing that could be done until nightfall, so swimming gave them a better means to occupy themselves.

In the late afternoon, as they lay in the grass resting before reality took over once more, Legolas gave a sad chuckle. "He used to call me that," he mused.

"Hmm?" Ossir murmured, from where he lay curled, half asleep.

"You called me a flighty creature before. That was one of the things the dwarf Gimli called me."

Ossir cracked an eye open. "You let him call you that?"

"Yup," Legolas replied. "And I gave him an equal share in return."

The squirrel laughed. "Go to sleep, fox. We leave at sunset."

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TBC…

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**A/N: Well, at least they had a little fun before everything goes back to the wargs. Again, so to speak. The next chapter will be longer, as I will be on spring break as of Friday afternoon. Yay! So on the 27th, which is a Monday since that weekend I'll be too busy to post anything, look for the next one, in which we find out the meaning behind Roklem's cryptic remark, Faramir gets better acquainted with his room _cough_cell_cough_ mate, and Aswad decides he's bored and has to come back into the picture. See ya then. **

**Reviews are as always appreciated and encouraged, and the responses to last chapter's reviews are on my livejournal page. They were put up right after this was posted, so by the time you read this they will be there. **


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